


First Door Down

by thesunmaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Apartments, College AU, Developing Relationship, M/M, and just them being total dorks in general, but until then there will be other little things to keep you vultures at bay, human trolls, there will also be fluff, there will be sex i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunmaid/pseuds/thesunmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert, 18-year-old college student, is excited about starting a new chapter in life, and when his good friend tells him that her brother will be attending college with them, he’s more than excited to meet this mystery kid. But the person he meets instead was definitely not the one he was expecting.</p><p>Alternately titled In Which John Egbert and Dave Strider Are Huge Dorks and Need to Get Over Themselves and Kiss Already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. News about what?

**Author's Note:**

> ive been meaning to write this story for a while, but now im finally getting around to doing it!!
> 
> so i hope you guys enjoy it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where characters are introduced and John wastes your time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i hope you guys enjoy this  
> chapter 2 is going up in a sec
> 
> im too tired to put the notes in again for like the billionth time so
> 
> eyeah

Your name is John Egbert, and you are an eighteen year-old college student.

Well, to be honest, your college life starts officially at the beginning of the first semester, which is in a couple of weeks from now. You're excited to say the least. You even managed to nab yourself a great apartment. It’s not too far from your classes, so your walking distance isn’t that huge.

Speaking of your great apartment, that is where you find yourself currently. Casually sprawled out on your dinky sofa with a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch sitting on your belly. Morning cartoons idly playing on the television you bought recently for the move. “It’s small, but it’s functional for a college student,” your father had said. You babysat and mowed lawns for weeks to pay this thing off.

You poke your breakfast around for a while longer before eating the remaining sugary squares. You slip from the soft cushions of your couch and place the bowl in the sink, filling it with a little water to soak. You watch the remaining milk mix and swirl with the added liquid, stray cinnamon bits floating along for the ride.

You check the digital clock on your microwave. 10:32. You agreed you would meet your friends at the local coffee shop at eleven.

Stretching, you pad quietly out of the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. Quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth, you make sure the remaining bits of breakfast are gone from your mouth and replaced with the fresh taste of Scope mouthwash. You smile quickly into the mirror and place your clunky glasses back over your face before heading off to your room to change.

The blinds in your room are open as they always are, the sun happily seeping in through the screen closing off your slightly parted window. The morning chill is almost gone. You find it refreshing. If you change quickly, you’ll have some time to take Casey out of her tank for a little while.

You don’t though, like usual, losing too much time as you clumsily slip into a pair of jeans and one of your few clean t-shirts. You trip toward the main door in your haste, quickly pulling on your hoodie as you close the door behind you, yelling a quick farewell to your amphibian friend. Grabbing the flailing ends of the outer garment, you zipper it up halfway as you hop down the open stairs to the first floor, making your way out of the small quad and onto the sidewalk.

There aren’t too many people on the street, and you let out a satisfied sigh, your shoulders relaxing. The sun feels good on your face, and warming your torso due to your dark hoodie. A small breeze rustles past you and through your hair, calming you in a way only the wind seems to be able to do. You pick up the pace though, making your usual ten minute walk to the coffee shop into five. Ever so punctual.

Except not really, though. You find yourself sprinting toward the little shop, sharp breaths leaving you. You skid to a halt outside a large window. Looking inside as you catch your breath, you sight your group of friends already there, sitting at one of the booths in the back of the café.

You straighten up, situate your ruffled clothing and attempt to tame your windblown hair before casually walking inside. You pass Feferi at the hostess station, giving her a quick hello as you scurry toward your friends. You're here often enough to know everyone. You’re kind of a house favorite.

“Hello John,” Rose greets you, scooting over a bit on the booth seat to accommodate enough room for you.

“Hi Rose!” you greet in that cheerful way you always do, happily taking the space.

“So John,” your cousin, Jade Harley, begins from across the table, leaning over it eagerly, “how’s your new apartment coming along?”

“Oh man, it’s so great! I’m almost done unpacking, and Casey really seems to be taking a liking to it as well. And I had just enough space to fit my keyboard into the living room!”

“Can we maybe _not_ let this conversation turn into you gushing about your beloved keyboard again?” Karkat says to you from his seat by the window, idly sipping at the coffee in his cup. “The tangent was exhausting enough the first time.”

“Oh please, Karkat,” you say, head tilting slightly and amused smile on your face as you look at him, “like I’m the only one who goes on tangents.”

He grumbles at you before taking another sip.

The rest of the morning is spent idly chatting with your friends, asking about classes and required textbooks. Jade mentions that she’s been entertaining the idea of joining a sorority for the past week, and with her determination you’re sure she’d make it in. Karkat says he’s just rooming with Sollux in the school dorms until(or if) he can get his own place.

“So I have news,” Rose begins at a lull in your conversation, taking her hands from her glass and placing them daintily in her lap, flattening out the few wrinkles in her skirt. “My brother has made the logical decision and applied for college. He has been accepted and will be moving here in a couple of days.”

“Oh great, another Lalonde,” Karkat grumbles before taking another sip of his coffee. He’s had it for so long, you’re starting to question if there’s anything even left in the cup.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” you say to Rose, surprised.

“Twin, actually,” she mentions, moving her hands from her lap to her head, adjusting her black headband over her near platinum blonde hair. You had poked and prodded her about it since you met, because you mean really no one has hair like that. At least not naturally. She had easily proven you wrong with a few simple childhood photos, but you don’t remember seeing a brother in any of them. “But yes, he is a handful.”

“Will we get to meet him?” If he’s anything like Rose you’re sure you’d get along. Rose is one of your closest friends and you adore her the same way you would a sister.

“If I can actually remove him from his apartment once he’s settled, then yes.”

“Oh this is exciting!” Jade exclaims from her side of the table, clapping her hands together a few times, elbow accidentally nudging Karkat’s arm.

\----

You all talk for a short bit longer before deciding to head your separate ways. Saying goodbye as you pass Feferi at the hostess station once again, you push open the glass doors and step out onto the sidewalk. The early September heat hangs in the air, and although you still have some unpacking to do, you decide to take a longer way back to your apartment which leads you through the only park this town has to offer.

You begin your walk, shoving your hands in your hoodie pockets. You’re instantly warmed as soon as you walk out from underneath the overhang of the café. The sky is nearly clear, with but a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. Sometimes you wish you could fly up and touch them, if only to see if they’re as soft as they look.

Sometimes you dream about flying. About a younger you, in a world you helped create, flying through the clouds. Sometimes others are with you, but not usually. Just you and the clouds and the wind, propelling you further and further. Sometimes you wish you never had to return.

You open your eyes from their relaxed state before crossing the intersection, hopping back on the curb on the other side. It’s times like this when you wish you had brought your ipod, let alone remembered to charge it before you left. The streets are still empty, though not as empty as earlier, and as you get closer to the park gates, the sounds of children’s laughter increases.

You skip through the entrance and find yourself faced with a small playground, squealing and young laughter floods your ears as you follow the path that winds around it to the other side of the park. Mothers sit near each other on wooden benches, having conversations with each other as a few nurture after the babies in their strollers. You see a few young fathers playing with their children on the swing set, which brings you back to memories when your father would do the same. Pushing you high.

Even then you felt like you could fly.

Still following the stone path, you walk under the canopy of trees and green leafs, instantly cooler. Small patches of light stream through parts in the trees, dancing in the breeze. A small child runs past you on her quest for the jungle gym, a tired looking mother following behind. You wave to her, and she waves back kindly before trying to catch her daughter.

You chuckle slightly and sigh, shoulders relaxing again as you tilt your head skywards and take in a deep breath. It still smells like summer. You can smell the flowers lining the path, lilacs and poppies of various colors. You’re glad to see that they haven’t began to wilt yet. Only so much longer though, until fall beings.

Too soon, you find yourself exiting the park on the other side from which you came. Your apartment isn’t too much farther, and you hum a little tune as you round the corner onto your street. You walk though the short tunnel to the inside of your apartment complex, which is open. Little trees and colorful flowers are kept back by small gates in the center, and one of your neighbors has seated herself on one of the benches placed about. You greet her as you hop up the metal stairs to the second floor. She smiles back at you in that grandmotherly way she does before you’ve disappeared back into your own apartment.

The door closes behind you, and your open blinds are letting in the afternoon sun. You keep the lights off, the sun being enough to light the rooms. You shrug off your blue hoodie and hang it over the back of the sofa as you pass, walking over to your keyboard, ignoring the few remaining boxes that sit by the small kitchen. You’ll unpack them later, you’ve already put away the more important things. But nonetheless, you take a seat in front of your keyboard, fingers gliding over the plastic keys. You slide the switch, turning it on and adjusting the sounds so it plays as a classic piano.

You play for a while longer, until the sky is many shades of reds and oranges and you decide to take a break. You switch the piano back off and pad into the kitchen, your refrigerator making the only sounds in the apartment. You sift through the food in the fridge, making a mental note to get to the store sometime soon. Instead you pour a glass of juice and grab the number you saved for the nearby pizza place out of the nearest cabinet.

You order your pizza (large, plain. Just in case you don’t get to the store as soon as you should.) and plop on the couch, sifting your wallet out of your hoodie pocket and pulling out a twenty.

It takes only about fifteen minutes for your pizza to arrive, and you thank the delivery girl, giving her four out of the nine dollars of your change before heading back inside. You can smell the pizza before you even open the lid. Melting cheese and perfect crust. You can’t get the plate fast enough, damn.

You’re sad to say that you ate three slices, and you poke at your slightly protruding belly with disdain. You get up as commercials interrupt your televised movie(National Treasure 2 plays often enough), taking it as a cue to clean up and put the remaining slices of pizza away.

Before you know it, the sun has set and it’s ten at night, and while you usually stay up later, you’re feeling pretty tired and don’t want to pass out on the couch again. You woke up with a pretty twisted back last time and vowed to never do it again.

So you turn off the few lights in your little living room before heading to the bathroom, where you wash up before heading off to bed. You tap Casey’s tank lightly once as a little ‘goodnight’ before stripping down to your boxers and sliding under the covers.

You lay in bed for a while, just looking out at the stars beyond your open window. The only sounds you hear are the crickets outside and Casey fumbling around in her cage. You think back to today, about Rose and her twin. Even though you love Rose, you think your psyche could only take one of her, what with the way she enjoys poking and prodding at your mind as if you were her patient. But, you never know. For all you know he could be the complete polar opposite.

Nonetheless, you close your eyes, drowning out your thoughts with the sounds of the outdoors. Your still open window lets in a small refreshing chill, but you pull your blanket up over your shoulders and burrow in, a sleepy and satisfied smile plastered on your face. You make another mental note to get to the store soon and your world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on to chapter 2!! ==>


	2. Shit's awkward, yo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John gets his ass to the store, Dave makes an appearance, and we all know how stupid John feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know how this chapter got over 4,000 words it just
> 
> happened
> 
> but ok so i was trying to get the coding right for around 2 hours, but every time i came back from the preview, the formatting was all different and messed up and at some points test was erased. so until i figure out what's happening(or anyone wants to help me[please]) we're just all gonna have to deal with boring pesterlogs and stuff

You wake up the next morning colder than you find comfortable, and spend about 20 minutes burrowed as deep as you can into your warm cocoon of blankets. The room is cold as hell, and you can feel the draft coming in through your comforter by an uncovered corner that you quickly close with your foot. You debate with yourself about whether or not to get up and close the window or stay in your nice cocoon. You’re in comfort limbo.

You debate for only five minutes longer before letting out a loud groan and throwing the blankets off of yourself, quickly rolling off the bed and dashing for the offending window. You close it with a slam and hop back onto your bed, pulling your blankets back over yourself. On your journey to the window, though, your bed cooled substantially and is no longer as comfortable as you would like.

You want to cry.

Finally though, you do get up, mainly out of frustration. You grab your discarded shirt from the other day and throw it on for some warmth, but its night spent on the floor collecting the draft really didn’t help you in this endeavor. Rubbing your arms to disperse forming goosebumps, you walk out of your room and to the living room where your hoodie still lay on the back of the couch. You pull it on, taking comfort in the small amount of heat it had to offer. You reach into your pockets, trying to locate your phone, and once you do you check the time to find out that it’s about a quarter to nine.

You go to the fridge to grab yourself some breakfast to start your day, completely forgetting of your needed trip to the store and are thoroughly disappointed when you open the door to find only some butter, a small bottle of juice and a nearly empty carton of milk. There’s still the leftovers, but you’re not really one for pizza for breakfast. You sigh, grabbing the milk anyway to see how much cereal you can get away with, with out it being too dry.

After your uncomfortable breakfast you continue with your morning ritual. Today is shower day, you note to yourself, as with every other day, and you head down to your small bathroom to brush your teeth and grab a fresh towel from the small hall closet. You turn on the tap in the tub/shower combo, and let your hand rest under the running water until it’s warm enough to your standards. Begrudgingly, you strip out of your clothes, kicking your remaining boxers off toward the hamper you keep by the bathroom door, and quickly hop inside the bath, pulling on the faucet until it clicks and the hot water begins to cascade down from above, the showerhead stuttering a few times as the water switches pipes.

So you begin your shower routine. Scrub up, wash face, shave, and wash your hair. You got a kiwi scented shampoo and conditioner double pack, and while conditioner really has no effect on your hair, you find it’s better than nothing. Your hair is so tangled and on bad days really frizzy, you sort of gave up on it a while ago. Gels having no positive effect, and really just make your hair a hard gross mess in the process. You scrub your scalp harder at the thought of it. Woe is your hair.

After about five more minutes of rinsing out the remaining suds, you turn off the water and step out of the tub. It’s still warm in the room, and condensation has formed on the mirror, little droplets beginning their descent down the reflective surface.

You grab your towel off of the toilet lid, patting yourself down and scrubbing your hair before wrapping the towel around your waist. You open the door, your hand slipping slightly on the damp handle, and walk out into the cool hallway, the heat from behind you flooding out of the bathroom and dispersing into the cold air.

So you get dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans laying on the floor by Casey’s tank and spend a good five minutes trying to find a shirt clean enough. Your laundry cleanliness follows that of Dr. Peter Venkman in Ghostbusters 2. There’s not just ‘clean’ and ‘dirty,’ there’s many subtle levels.

You finally pick one(ironically Ghostbusters) and tell yourself that you _really_ need to clean your room today. It’s only been five days and there’s already a sea of discarded clothing.

You shrug on the gray shirt and actually attempt to fix your hair before you leave. It’s all futile though, and while it feels kinda soft, your fingers get caught a few times in stray tangles as they stroke over your scalp. You pull roughly through a bad one and damn maybe you should get a haircut or something because you obviously have no idea what your doing.

You shake out a few stray hairs that wound around your fingers before heading back into the bathroom to grab your hoodie off of the counter, then back into the living room to turn off the lights and head out. You quickly pat yourself down and, yes, you do have your wallet before locking the door.

It’s a nice day out again, and you can hear the birds chirping from the trees. On your descent down to the first floor, you spot the same woman as yesterday, who has perched herself back on the same bench, but this time she brought some bread with her, and is feeding the birds who come by. You notice she also brought her dog. A small papillon with a beautiful white and tan coat, who was sleeping beside her. She doesn’t notice you as you approach until you greet her with a wave and a “Hello Mrs. Neil.”

“Oh, hello John,” she smiles, placing her bread on the bench next to her. A few birds hop back after they notice you’ve stopped moving and begin pecking at the little balls of wheat scattered about. “How are you doing?”

“Oh I’m fine,” you say as you pat your wallet through your pocket, “just heading out to the store. How are the birds?”

“Well, they keep coming back,” she laughs, picking off some of the bread and tossing it down to the twittering animals. “Maybe I should invest in a bird feeder.”

You smile at her, then down at the birds. A few more have arrived by now. Checking your phone, you find that it’s 9:30 and the supermarket should be open by now. “Well, I should get going before the crowd beats me,” you say as you start walking away.

She waves kindly, and all the movement causes the birds to disperse, but not far, as you can see they’ve only perched themselves in the neighboring tree. “Have fun, dear,” she parts before getting back to her animals.

And you’re off, heading out through the archway and turning left. You don’t feel like taking the bus today, it’s too nice out. The sky is a beautiful blue and there are more clouds in the sky than the day before, though not many. But they’re just as fluffy, and the sun is shining brightly. It’s warm out, and maybe by noon you’ll take off your hoodie.

Your trek to the store is somewhat of a long one, but the breeze that rustles past and the sun on your face tell you that, yeah, it was a good idea to walk. There are more people at the store than you would have liked there to be, and also it felt a little crowded for a Tuesday, but hey you needed food.

You quickly skip through the front doors as they slide open after a young couple enter, and grab one of the little plastic baskets they keep by the carts. It’s a semi-large store, and the last time you came in you were happy to find it was very clean. You think it has to do with the fact that it was just recently constructed, but everything just smelled so fresh.

You get the essentials: milk, butter, eggs, and some more juice as you weave through oblivious consumers on their phones. The cereal isle is pretty empty, and you take solace in that fact, easily browsing the many boxes for anything new. In the end you just grab some Honey Nut Cheerios, dumping the two boxes into your basket. Maybe one day you’ll buy substantial food.

On a whim to be healthy, you stop by the fruits, most of which you find to be ripe, though a few in the front seem to be a little brownish for your liking. You pick a container of strawberries from the back. You father would always say how the fresh fruit is always placed in the back so people would buy the older fruits first. No way are you going to get old fruit.

You also grab a few Granny Smith apples and tie them up in their little separate baggie before checking out. You choose self checkout this time, and even though you usually have some sort of problem with them, the line is substantially smaller than the other checkouts.

You heave a sigh of relief when your purchase goes through without any trouble and you grab your bags. It’s a little more crowded, it being around 11:00 by now. School for everyone is starting back up again soon, and you see few large groups of kids enter the theater across the street. You could go for a movie right now, and you intend to watch one from your vast collection of classics(to you) when you return home.

Your arms are getting heavy halfway through your walk home, and when you finally see the beacon that is your two story apartment building, your arms feel like they want to drop right off your body. Just plop on the ground, and take your groceries with them. The armless jokes will never stop being a thing. You tell yourself to calm down, though, it’s just four bags of groceries.

As you get closer you see a red truck parked outside of the building. You find it strange, because the parking lot is in the back. Once you’re nearly outside the entrance, you see some boxes in the trunk and, hm, is someone moving in? You glance around the truck curiously, only to find it empty, before heading inside. You really want to put this food away and watch some movies.

So inside you go, your plastic bags banging against your legs as you walk. As you turn and head up the stairs, you see someone by your door. You see a shock of platinum blonde and almost shout “Rose!” but stop yourself because nope.

That is a man.

That is most certainly a man.

And it turns out he wasn’t standing in front of you door.

He’s standing at the neighboring one. He’s got a box in his arms matching the ones outside and, oh man, a new tenant. As you get closer, you start to get suspicious. With hair like that, could it be, maybe, Rose’s brother? She said twin, right? You eye his height and yeah it fits. He’s also just as lean and his skin is just as pale.

Oh man you’re checking this guy out, stop it John that’s weird.

But wouldn’t Rose have said something? You mean, she said her brother was moving to town but just so happens to be your neighbor? Rose does shit like this more than you would like, so it’s not out of the ordinary, but still.

Either way, you find yourself in front of your own door and before you can stop yourself the words are spilling from your mouth, because what is tact, what even is it?

“Hello, Mr. Lalonde.”

Oh god he turns to you(what did you expect) but he’s got these dark sunglasses on that just seem to bore into your soul and man you have never wanted out of a situation more badly in your life.

And then he just keeps fucking _staring_ at you and it’s really quiet and you can just feel the awkwardness hanging around you. You feel completely glued to this spot and, Jesus, you would really like to go inside now. But you stare right back because what else is there to do? It continues on like this for what feels like an eternity but was most likely only about ten seconds longer before he finally opens his mouth and says something.

“Strider.”

And that’s it. That’s fucking it, and he just opens the door and walks inside just leaving you out there and you have never felt like a bigger idiot. You are the moron, it’s you.

You feel the friendly smile you put on your face strain as you come to the realization that, yeah, that conversation was totally a thing that just happened. Then your ass practically slams back down to planet earth and you remember that you’re carrying these grocery bags and your arms are tired. So you awkwardly shuffle the two bags on your right arm to your left to grab your keys and unlock the door.

Once you’re finally inside you drop the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a long sigh you didn’t know you had in you. Oh man, that was embarrassing. That was really embarrassing. Why did you say that, what possessed you to say that? You audibly groan into your hands and stand there like that for a few seconds, wishing that time travel was a thing so you could stop yourself from saying that. Damn you, Marty McFly.

Damn you and your flux capacitor.

After putting the food away, you strip off your pants and hoodie, leaving you in your boxers and tee shirt(because you’re not going anywhere else today, anyway), and go through your movie collection. In the end, you go with Moonstruck. Oh Johnny and Loretta, maybe they can get you through this.

You watch the movie wholeheartedly, and completely forget about your blunder earlier. That is, until the movie actually ends. After another two(Ghostbusters 1 and 2 combo) you don’t feel as stupid anymore and decide to make yourself an early dinner. So you replay the movie for background noise and heave yourself off of the couch.

You open the refrigerator door and browse your choices. You didn’t really get anything that you could make an actual dinner with, more like breakfast items. You sigh, maybe you should make a list next time.

In the end you just decide to make some scrambled eggs. So you grab two eggs and the milk carton and get to work. Pouring out a good ratio of milk to eggs to make them fluffy enough, you begin whisking, and once done turn on the stovetop where the pan is already waiting.

While you wait for the pan to heat up, though, you decide to check in on this neighbor situation with a certain friend of yours. You find your jeans on the floor by the couch and rifle through the back pockets for your phone. Once out you open up your beloved Pesterchum. You’ve had this thing for ages.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 15:27 –-

EB: hey rose.  
EB: you there?  
EB: it says you are but i never know with you.  
EB: it’s about your brother actually.  
EB: i uh, hehe, got this new neighbor and i swear it’s the guy but now i’m not too sure?  
EB: can you at least get back to me on the subject?  
EB: and i’m talking to myself.  
EB: just pester me back when you get this.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 15:33 –-

You sigh, getting back to your eggs. You tell yourself to just stop thinking about it.

In less than ten minutes your dinner is good and scrambled and you eat it fast. When you’re done you wash the dishes in the sink that have been piling up over the past couple of days, letting them out to dry on the rack.

Then you clean.

Within a surprising twenty-five minutes, you’ve picked up all your discarded clothing throughout the apartment and placed them in the hamper, ready to wash. You’ve made your bed, cleaned up the rest of the kitchen and arranged your shoes by the coat rack at the door. You’re feeling pretty good right now, so instead of going back to the television where you might start thinking about earlier events, you seat yourself at your piano.

Once adjusted to your liking, you begin to play. No sheet music like you do when you play purely on emotion. Your fingers hop from key to key as you bob to the enthusiastic melody. You’re having fun, and your music reflects that with each chord.

You keep telling yourself to get blank music sheets to write on, but you never do. You always get caught up in your music anyway, you’d probably forget to actually write down the notes.

You fingers begin to tire after a while, and you decide that it’s time for a break.

After a few more hours of shitting around(and still no response from Rose), you lock the front door and turn off the lights, then retire to your room for the night. You fumble around with Casey for a little bit, and she decides that it’s a great idea to rest on your chest near the collar of your shirt. You laugh at her, petting her head with the tip of your pointer finger while you fumble with your laptop.

Once situated, you start a movie to watch(fall asleep to). Tonight it’s Kick-Ass, for one because it’s a long movie and two, Nic Cage was such a great Big Daddy. You were moved to tears the first time you watched his death scene.

You put Casey back into her tank while the beginning credits start to roll. You wouldn’t want to fall asleep and lose her in the room. She scurries under the fake bark tunnel you got from Animal Kingdom and curls up amongst the dirt and leafs.

Then you hop back into bed, situating your laptop on your bedside table so it wont overheat, and making sure it was plugged into its charger before getting comfortable.

You fall asleep to the sounds of gunshots and profanities.

\----

Hours in the past, but not many, you find you are no longer John Egbert. You are the infamous Dave Strider. Infamous is a relative term though, because no one really knows who you are. Aside from your insanely popular online comic(which you’ve met few fans from) no one really knows anything about you. You are an enigma, a breeze in the wind. 100% cool dude from Texas, that’s you.

About two weeks ago, your sister had phoned you up saying that she knew of a great apartment for you to stay in during the school year, instead of awkwardly rooming with her. You had said, sure what the hell, and began packing your things. Your Bro was proud of you, and though you’d never tell him so, you were happy about that fact.

But yeah, so two weeks later, here you are, pulling up to the address Rose had given you when you met up earlier. She said she talked to the landlord and got everything situated on your drive up.

You pull as close to the curb as you can without scraping anything before turning off the ignition. You hop out the drivers seat, ratty converse slapping against the pavement on your descent. You grab your box of more fragile items from the backseat(camera, developing supplies, etc.) and close the door with a hard bump from your hip. With the box securely in your grasp, you walk around the side of the car to the entrance of the building. You notice it has a small open quad. Mainly stone, but with trees and flowers blocked off by little iron fences. You give a mental nod to Lalonde for picking such a nice place. You’ll make sure to get some time later to take photos.

Rose said your apartment number was 203, so you’re guessing you’re on the second floor. Damn Lalonde, gonna make you lug all your shit up a flight of stairs. You take one of the metal stairs that match the fences up to the second floor. _201, 202,_ you say to yourself as you count the doors. Once you get to your apartment, you begin searching(fumbling) for the key Rose had given you after your brief hello at her place.

As you're trying to situate the box in your hands so you can get the key out of your back pocket, you hear someone ascending the stairs. The sounds of plastic bags banging against moving limbs and sneakers slapping against metal rings in your ears, but you ignore it. Or at least try to. The sounds of the bags are getting closer and they sound like they’re right next you.

On a sly glance, you realize they are.

This kid around your age is at the door next to you, and you try to turn your head back slyly. He’s got this ink black hair that goes with his suntanned skin perfectly. And holy Jesus his fucking eyes are the bluest things you’ve ever seen. And you’re saying that looking at them from behind your shades.

But you get back to your keys because you totally weren’t just checking this kid out. But you can feel his eyes on you, and you’re hesitant to look back but this kid opens his mouth instead.

“Hello, Mr. Lalonde.”

What? Does Rose know this kid or something? He doesn’t have the name right, but he was close in a way. Did she tell people you were moving here? Knowing her, probably. This kid looks like he’s looking for a response or a “Hey what’s up, yep that’s totes me,” but being you, you just kinda stare at him for a little longer than you would’ve liked to admit.

His hair is kinda messy, and you’re not sure if he styled it that way or just has natural bed head. It fits him though, kinda dorky.

You tell yourself to stop staring and actually say something. “Strider,” is all that gets out of your mouth before your key is unlocking the door and you’re inside.

It’s dark in the room, and the only light coming in is from outside, but it’s being dimmed by thin curtains hanging in front of the few windows. You see a figure in a chair on the opposite side of the room from where you’re standing, and you flip on the lights quickly.

“Rose? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Aw Dave, and I thought you loved me.” She’s sitting with perfect posture in one of the chairs she dragged from the small kitchen bar counter. She’s wearing a nice white blouse tucked into a purple skirt she’s got pulled waist-high and held off with a thin black belt. It matches the headband she’s worn since forever that’s still perched in her equally just as blonde hair as yours. She checks her phone for a moment before putting it back into her pocket.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you tell her as you set the box down carefully by the door. “But seriously why are you here.” It comes out more like an exasperated statement.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she says simply as she rises from the chair, smoothing out her barely knee-length skirt. “It’s not like you know anyone else around here, anyway.”

You walk past her and over to the windows to open up the curtains. They’re pretty threadbare, you realize as you grasp the worn fabric between your fingertips.

“Well, if you really wanna keep me company, then you can help me bring my shit in.”

She complies and in a few hours all of your things are in the building. You nearly had a heart attack bringing your mixing gear up the stairs.

You tell Rose that you’re going to go park your car in the lot, and she situates herself on the futon. It looks enough like a couch to pass for one. At least to your standards.

When you get back, you both just chill with each other, talking about what’s been up lately. She tells you Mom is still just as drunk, and you tell her Bro is still just as crazy. She says she’s writing again, you ask wizard porn, and she punches you halfheartedly on the shoulder.

Things go like this for a while longer until you’ve both quieted down and are just watching shitty horror movies on Netflix. She bought some food for you, and you’re both eating noodles smothered in butter and salt while people are being massacred on screen.

She stays with you for a short while longer then decides to head back to her place. She kisses your forehead and you push her away with a whine, before leaving the apartment with a chuckle.

You stretch your arms above your head, shirt raising a little, and sigh. You pick up your bowls from the floor and go to the kitchen to wash them. The sound of the running water relaxes you, running your hands under the warm water as you scrub.

The dishes are clean within minutes and you set them out to dry before heading back over to sit on the futon. You sit there for a moment in almost silence, the only sounds you hear are the faint ones coming from the screaming people on your television.

You move for the remote sitting on the other side of the mattress when you hear something. A jolly little tune, from the sounds of it, emitting from the dorky kid’s place. It doesn’t sound like anything you’ve heard before(you don’t often listen to solely piano pieces, anyway), and it doesn’t sound like it’s a CD or anything either.

You grab the remote, turning down the volume on your TV until the movie is no louder than a few slashes on screen. You can hear the music fairly clearly, only being slightly muffled by the separating wall. He must have the piano right against it.

The tune switches, but it’s just as happy and full of emotion as the one preceding it. You lie back on the futon, your legs stretching and feet hitting the opposite armrest as you listen.

The happy melody and sounds of movie credits are the last things you hear before you’re out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote both chapters during my days off while my school was having midterms. now that school is back on, i'll probably be only able to work on this on weekends(or when i'm avoiding hw /COUGHS)
> 
> but i'll be working my hardest so i hope you guys keep reading!!
> 
> im open for any questions you might have over at my tumblr (thesunmaid)
> 
> but please i really hope you guys enjoy this story i have so many notes pilled up you dont even KNOW(5 pages COUGHS HARDER)


	3. Volume control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which amends are made and broships are formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nep makes a cameo

It’s been a week since “Mr. Strider” moved into the apartment next door, and it’s been just as long since Rose answered your texts. She had sent you one the next morning after your wonderful first meeting with the blond, saying that she was going to be busy, but sends her apologies and will get back to you in a day or so. It’s been longer than that, but you don’t want to be a bother to her.

In the week that your new neighbor moved in, you hadn’t seen him at all, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t heard him.

Boy have you heard him.

It started the second night after his arrival. You were watching one of your various movies, and just in the thick of it, you could hear loud music emanating from his apartment. You kind of enjoyed it but, hey c’mon, it was movie night(wasn’t it always), and you were trying to pay attention. It sounded pretty club-like, what with the bass thumping against the wall, and if it weren’t for the complete silence after the fact of the music, you would’ve guessed he was having a party.

But no, it was just him. What was it called? Mixing? Yeah, you think he was mixing. At first you thought maybe he was blasting his iTunes on crazy good speakers, but when parts were being repeated and fixed, that’s when you understood. It’s not like the music was bad. Like you said, you enjoyed it, but. . .

This has been happening since he moved in.

It was infuriating. There were other people in this complex, you know. Living their own lives and junk. While the music was loud, you were beginning to think it was only loud enough to penetrate your walls. Mrs. Neil hadn’t mentioned it when you went to visit her and the birds, and neither had any of your other neighbors.

You were alone on this one.

Which leads you to where you are now.

The week has wrapped back around to Tuesday again. It’s eight at night and you’re watching movies from your collection as you relax. School is starting up next Monday, and you’ve been preparing yourself all day. You were tired, a little crabby, and frankly you were fed up with the volume. If you had the guts, you would’ve knocked on his door days ago and told him to turn it down, but you weren’t exactly looking forward to seeing that stoic face again.

And so here you are. Sitting on the couch with a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn, seasoned and everything, while your movies flicker across the screen of your television. And there he was, in the next room over playing his music at that ungodly level. You could barely hear what the actors were saying, and so in not so silent retaliation, you grabbed the remote and turned up the volume until his music was just bass vibrating against your wall. You smirked triumphantly. _Take that,_ you thought.

Only about two minutes later, however, the bass rose in volume, and your characters had been muted once more. Your smirk was entirely gone from your face now, and instead replaced with a scowl. Damn him.

Your eyes narrow as you, once again, turn up the volume even higher. It was on. The explosions on screen rumbling throughout your apartment. You waited for his retaliation.

And there it was. His volume was turned up quickly with what you hope was irritation. You were going to win this. You had to win this.

You were ready in an instant. The remote still in your hand. The volume was reaching its peak, and you were completely alright with turning on your speakers. This was war. There were sure to be casualties.

His volume increased again, and so did yours. Back and forth you went until you could feel the vibrations in the room. People began banging on your walls, telling you to turn it off. You couldn’t until he did.

You could feel how closely knit your eyebrows were, the deep scowl on your face as you clutched the remote tightly in your hand. You could hear people yelling at you both to turn off the sound.

Your speakers were on, his music was blaring, beats reverberating against the walls. Your neighbors were furious, and you were too. Your hands were balled into fists and shaking, the mixes next door were erratic. People began banging on your doors. You were reaching your breaking point. You were done. You were so done.

You got up angrily, the bowl you had situated on your lap falling to the floor, popcorn spilling out in a buttery mess. Furiously, you jab your fingers against the power button, sequentially turning off the television. Strider next door must’ve hit his limit as well, because the silence was numbing against your throbbing ears. You stood there for a moment, just massaging your temples as your neighbors angry poundings ceased.

You’re taking soothing breaths as you walk towards your bathroom, looking for an ibuprofen. Once you have one you walk into your bedroom, sitting on your mattress and taking the pill with the water bottle you kept on your bedside table.

“I’m sorry, Casey,” you tell your little salamander. She’s cowering under the plants in her cage, and you feel pretty bad about scaring her like that. You get up and walk over to her tank, opening the lid and soothingly caress your fingers over her head. She jolts slightly at the touch, but then relaxes, her little eyes closing as she calms down. You make little cooing sounds until her breathing is normal again, and you remove your hand from the tank, closing the lid soundlessly.

You also feel pretty bad about bothering your neighbors like that. Ugh, you keep screwing up. You groan into your hands for a moment, the pounding in your head still prominent. Sleep, sleep sounds nice right now. You go back into the living room, making sure the door was locked and to turn off the remaining lights. You look at the fallen popcorn for a moment, but decide that you’ll just clean it up in the morning. You can’t be bothered with it right now.

Once you’re in your bed, blankets pulled comfortably to your shoulders, you realize that you feel kinda bad about messing with that Strider guy as well. He was just mixing. But, he was so loud, and it’s not like you were the only one raising your volume as well.

You find yourself debating about this for at least another hour before you finally fall asleep.

\----

The next morning you wake up pretty early, so you decide to head down to the coffee shop for breakfast. You get dressed fast and brush your teeth quickly before speeding out of your apartment. You don’t want to run into any of your neighbors, you’re sure half of them would give you a stern reprimand for your actions the previous night.

So down the stairs you go, and you’re down the block in an instant. Mrs. Neil wasn’t out this morning. Oh, Mrs. Neil. You’re especially distressed about upsetting her, she’s such a nice old woman.

You’re kicking little pebbles with your feet and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the small café.

Walking in, you’re welcomed to a near empty shop, the only customers waiting on line before they head back out to work. As you wait in line yourself, you spot your friend Vriska clearing tables, and as she walks by she bumps her hip with yours as a silent hello. You smile at her, but she doesn’t see it as she continues into the kitchen.

The man in front of you takes longer with his order than you would’ve liked, and once he has his tray of coffees and pastries, he’s apologizing for the wait and scurries out the door.

“Hi, how may I help you?” the short brunette from behind the counter asks you cheerfully.

“Um, can I just get a caramel iced coffee, please?”

At your order, she scurries off towards the blenders and machines. You tap your fingers against the granite of the countertop as you wait, the sounds of steam and cooking in the back lulling you. You curiously look at the pastry display to see what they’re offering today. Nothing really new. The usual doughnuts and cupcakes, a few small cakes wonderfully decorated with icing and fondant. A few other pastries like cannolies and éclairs. Turning your head back to the counter, you inspect the smaller display of freshly baked goods. A variety of gooey cookies and cinnamon buns, as well as what you’re pretty sure are apple turnovers.

The freckled girl comes back with your order in hand, placing it on the counter as she rings you up. “Anything else?” she asks.

“Um, yeah, can I get a couple of those apple turnovers?”

\----

Well, here you are, paper bag filled with pastries and your hand hesitating to knock on the door in front of you. It’s in the air, about five inches from the wood plane, but you’re hesitating. What if he’s furious at you? What if he just slams the door back in your face?

After about thirty more seconds of you contemplating between knocking on his door or running back to your apartment and just eat these things by yourself, you decide on what you know was the right thing to do.

And so you knock quickly a few times and wait. Only after your hand came back down to your side however, you realize that it wasn’t even nine yet and he was probably still asleep. After a short moment waiting with no sounds coming from the apartment, you go to knock again. As soon as your knuckle connects with the wood, you hear a “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” and you instantly regret this.

He opens the door, and you can tell he just hastily pulled a shirt on before answering. His blonde hair looked pretty messy, and you attributed that to how he probably only just woke up. He’s got these dorky heart boxers on but you look away because oops, there’s a dick there.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand as a sheepish look consumes your features. “Peace offering?”

He stares at you for a moment, those shades still present on his face, before chuckling a little. His hand slides down from its place on the doorframe before walking back into his apartment. “Come in,” is all he says, little laughs still evident in his voice.

You stand there for a moment before walking in yourself. It was pretty dark, the lights were off and heavy curtains covered the windows. The only light was emanating from the television, which was stalled on Netflix’s home page. You stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment after closing the door behind you. You could see the blonds figure in the kitchen, “Take a seat,” he said, opening the fridge. The harsh artificial light creating a glow around his body. “You want anything?”

“No, I’m ok,” you tell him, subconsciously shaking the ice in your near empty coffee cup as you take a seat on the futon he had instead of an actual couch. You guessed it sort of counted? It’s not like it was reclined or anything. It was a little warm. You guessed he was sleeping on it.

You place the paper bag on the makeshift coffee table before you, your nervous fingers unclenching from their hold. They move to the cup and play with the straw instead. So far things were going okay, you thought, he hasn’t gotten mad or anything, so that’s a plus.

He closes the refrigerator door and walks back over to you with a glass bottle in his hands. He sits down in the open space to your left and takes a swig from the bottle. Apple juice?

You look down at your hands for a moment(which were still fiddling with the straw in your cup). You could feel his eyes on you, it didn’t matter that you couldn’t see them. You steal a glance in his direction and sure enough he’s looking at you. Well, from what you can tell. He’s sitting next to you, his posture terrible as his elbows rest against his knees while his head is turned in your direction. He’s waiting for you to say something.

“Um, I’m really sorry about last night,” you murmur, “I was being a brat.”

“That’s it?” he chuckles again. “Dude it’s no problem. I should probably take the fault on this one though. My headphones crapped out and I lost my spare in the move. My order hasn’t come in yet.” He looks down at the bottle in his hands before taking another swig then twisting the lid back on. “I’m pretty used to loud music playing in the apartment, it’s just habit. . . Sorry.”

You look up at him, a small smile threatening to break out on your lips. “Also I’m sorry about that awkward first meeting the other day. That was really stupid.” You hesitate a moment before adding, “I’m John. John Egbert.”

He smirks at you before replying, “Dave. You got the Strider part already.”

You felt like things wouldn’t be official until there was a handshake or something equally dumb involved, but you didn’t push it because he might find that weird. He takes in a deep breath, stretching his arms above his head before relaxing again. “So you know Rose, huh?”

“What?” You were caught off guard by that statement. Rose? Blonde Rose? Snarky Rose?

“I’m guessing that’s where you got the ‘Lalonde’ from. Close, but no cigar.”

“So, you are her brother?” It was hard to tell about the ‘twin’ part when half his face was concealed by dark aviators.

“Yep,” he sighs, falling back against the back of the futon, his hands in his lap as he continued to look at you. It’s not as unnerving as it was during your first encounter with him. You join him in his relaxed state, placing your cup next to the pastry bag before leaning back as well. There was a really comfortable air in the room. “We didn’t always live together though. Family things.” You guess that’s why Rose’s photos were devoid of him. You’re kind of sad about that fact, but you know you shouldn’t prod.

You both sit there in silence for a minute, and you’re scanning the titles on the screen as you wait for something to say.

“So what’s in the bag?” He leans forward and inspects said object, picking it up and unrolling the paper. Little tears here and there from your nervous twiddling.

“Well, I was at the café a few blocks down and saw them so I-“

“Oh shit, apple turnovers,” he quietly cheers as he reaches into the bag and grabs one of them. He takes a bite and says, “You have won my heart, Egbert,” as little crumbs fall into his lap. He unsuccessfully tries to catch them before they do. His mouth is still full as he continues, “Introduce you to the parents and all that shit,” you try to get a word in, but to no avail, “well, bro, but same difference kinda.” And before you could reply with the confusion you wanted to voice, he was offering you the bag. “Here.”

You just sort of stared at him for a moment, completely baffled. What the hell were you so scared about? He’s a fucking dork!

It was actually very endearing.

Your eyebrows quirk as you smirk at him. You laugh out a breathy little chuckle and shake your head as you reach into the bag and pull out the remaining pastry. They weren’t as warm as they were when you first bought them, but they tasted delicious.

“So,” you say around a bite of apple, “Rose said you moved here for school?”

He nods, taking another swig from his apple juice bottle. “I was already a pretty good DJ back in Houston, thought I might as well make it official. Also I’ve been wanting to get into some photography business, too.”

“You do photography?”

“Yeah, it’s been a hobby of mine since I was a kid. Granted, I mostly took terrible  selfies in the mirror. As I got a little older though, I started really getting into it.” He’s got this wistful smile on his face, but then it’s gone when he looks back to you. “And yourself?”

“I plan on majoring in biology,” you say, and he whistles at you. You laugh.

“So, photography, huh?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and you know it looks stupid, but it gets a laugh out of him as well. “Anything you specialize in?”

“Lots of things. Really whatever catches my attention.” He hesitates for a moment, those shades still turned to your direction, before he sighs and looks down at the bottle in his hands. “Landscapes are a lot of fun. Birds are cool.”

He’s still looking down at the remaining juice as you say, “Can I see some?”

He lets out an “Ehhhhhh,” which you take as a “Maybe at some point but right now, no.” You nod in understanding, and finish the rest of your turnover.

“Well, you know,” you turn to him, dusting the crumbs off of your lap, “there’s a really nice park not too far away from here. You could probably get some nice pictures there.”

“You askin’ me out, Egbert?” he smirks, turning to you as well.

You start fumbling with your words, “No that’s not what I-! I didn’t mean that-! I don’t have to come-“

He starts laughing, but you’re still flipping out a little. “Dude relax, I’m just fuckin’ with you.”

You involuntarily punch him on the arm, but he just keeps trying to stifle himself.

You actually stay there for a lot longer than you were expecting to. Dave was actually a pretty cool guy, once you got passed how unbelievably dorky he was. You feel like you both really hit it off. You ended up playing a few rounds of Scott Pilgrim with him before you decided that you should get back to your own place. You getting up to leave took about a half an hour as you both continued to just talk. When he mentioned though, that he still had a lot to take care of before school started, that’s when you knew it was time go.

He walks you to the door, and as you’re leaving he says, “So, I don’t really know where this park is,” and you smile because you know what he’s getting at. “Would it be too much to ask if you were to accompany me on my journey?”

He’s being sarcastic but you know his proposition was genuine. You turn around to face him, and nod. “I will be your trusty guide.”

He smiles at you and tells you to meet him back at his place at around sunset before he closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's totally a date they just dont know it yet


	4. Fireflies and Monkey Bars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave’s having trouble keeping his focus on things other than the dorky boy next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so so sorry about taking forever to update this
> 
> it was supposed to be up a few days ago, and i REALLY wanted it up last night, but some last minute things happened and i had to finish it this morning
> 
> happy late valentines day!!

You find it hard to keep your focus on menial tasks as you wait out the hours until sunset.

Mainly because said focus keeps slipping right back over to a certain goober you just formally met.

You’re in the closet in your bedroom, which you’re not actually planning on using as such. You’ve been cleaning it out for a few days, taking out the clothes rack and cleaning the cobwebs out of the corners. You’ve sprayed at least half a can of Febreze in the damn thing because fuck, it smelled like death.

It’s still fairly early out, maybe nearing noon, and you’re on your knees in this small space trying to scrub out this scary looking stain in the carpet. The sun is slipping in through your slightly parted curtains, a bright streak of light passing through the dark room and landing on the opposite wall.  You’ve got the closet light on above you, but the old bulb is flickering as it nears its last stages of life. You silently pray for it to last long enough for you to finish in here, because you don’t feel like going down to the store for a god damn light bulb.

But no, you really want to finish this room today, and now you’re finally motivated. When you first moved into the place, you were stoked that the closet was actually large enough to work as your new makeshift dark room. You have a digital camera, sure, but you found it relaxing under the red light, just developing photos and listening to music as you did so.

Your arm starts to get sore after about twenty more minutes of scrubbing at the mysterious stain. It’s almost gone, and you’re relieved. You sit up, stretching your back and making a satisfying pop as you roll your aching shoulders. You decide to take a break, and go into the kitchen for some apple juice.

You realize the supply is dwindling, and you frown, but take a small bottle anyway. You nudge the door closed with your foot, happy to not have to worry about shitty swords slicing off a limb in the process.

You’ve got a little while before you told Egbert to meet you back here. You can’t help but chuckle a little. The fuck kinda name was “Egbert”? Was it even a real last name? Well, it must be, you guess, but still.

And those teeth? You guess he probably had braces at some point, because they were perfectly in line. His front teeth, though, seemed a little larger than the rest, and it gave him this goofy air to him that you couldn’t help but find attractive.

Ugh, stop, stop. We’re not doing this.

It’s not like this kid was making you rethink your sexual preference or anything stupid like that, no. Honestly? You could care less about what someone had in their pants. And as lame it may sound to some(and to you when you were younger and stupid), you’d rather have a meaningful relationship than some one night fling, or even a fuck buddy situation.

But you know next to nothing about John, except for the fact that he’s majoring in some form of biology and he’s wonderful at playing the piano.

Which is why you’re looking forward to this little trip to the park with him tonight. You two seemed to hit it off earlier, and if Rose thinks he’s a good kid, then you’re more than willing to give him a shot. And besides, he’s your neighbor for the next 4 years(unless one of you moves), might as well be friends.

And if he just so happens to be an attractive mess then so be it.

Why were you even giving this any thought? For all you knew he was completely and one hundred percent hetero, and while that might suck a little, it’s not like you were gonna get all worked up about it. So what if your attractive neighbor doesn’t like dick? You could move on.

Move on from what?

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of all of these stupid thoughts. What the hell were you even thinking? You chalk all of this up to your lack of sleep lately. Your thoughts have been all scrambled. Like when he asked you about your photography? You looked at him too long when you had told him you only photographed things that interested you. He probably noticed. Fuck.

Why were you flipping out? You bring your free hand to your face, groaning audibly into it. Calm down, Dave. You still had at least five hours until sunset. That should definitely be enough time for a shower and some time to sleep before John arrived. You really needed to clear your head, you sounded insane.

You were in the bathroom and out of your clothes in an instant(literally), and in seconds hot water was streaming down from above, the steam rising and condensing on your shower curtain. You just stood there for a moment, clearing your head, only focusing on the sound of the water and the way the steam twisted around you. The warm liquid fell against your scalp as you hung your head, and you enjoyed the feel of the hot water dripping off of your nose and rolling down your shoulders.

You took deep breaths, and finally, you felt calm enough to wash up.

Scrubbing your scalp with your towel as you walk out of the bathroom, you enter the bedroom, where you haven’t really been sleeping for the past few nights. You decide that a formal mattress sounds much more enticing than your futon out in the living room, and once you had pulled on some boxers, you plopped down onto your bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress as you did so.

You were instantly comfortable, your head sinking into your pillow, wet strands of hair fanning about your face. You let out a long sigh, your body relaxing, shoulders falling, and you nuzzled into your pillow, slightly wet from your damp head.

This was good. Clear head, no stupid shit. You were going to be collected for tonight, this isn’t about your attractive- stop, stop, stop. You groan again, the sound muffled by your pillow, and push your face further into the downy cushion. Your forgotten aviators on your head slip down onto the pillow, and you put them on the bedside table with a huff.

Sliding beneath the thick covers, you pull them up and under you chin, dissatisfied grimace on your face. You realize the light is still on in the closet, but you can’t find it in you to care. Screw it, you’ll buy a new light bulb.

\----

After you woke up, you felt refreshed, those idiotic thoughts gone from your mind. You were going to hang out with John tonight because you wanted to try out this friendship thing, and that was it. Easy shit. You were looking forward to just being friends. Friends was cool. Friends was normal. This was just a stupid and hopefully short-lived infatuation. Nothing more. And you were just going to focus on being friends.

It was nearing six, and the sun was beginning its descent behind the city skyline. John would be here soon. You toss the blankets off of yourself and roll out of bed, bare feet sliding across the carpet. Taking a moment to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, you push off the bed and make your way casually over to your dresser.

Your face felt bare, and you realize your shades were still over on your dresser. You thank yourself for keeping the curtains closed and walk back over to your bed, taking solace in the way the metal slides over your face. You’ve worn shades your whole life, and you’re not sure if they protected your sensitive eyes or made them that way in the first place. They sure as fuck were a creepy color though, so, might as well hide them. The last thing you wanted to be seen as was a freak.

So back over to your dresser you go. You grab your favorite red tee shirt and toss it on your messy bed. You’ve worn it so much the red kinda faded and left it looking a little pale, but you liked it just as much. Maybe even a little more. You liked thrift items.

Next, you pull out a pair of recently bought jeans. They were dark and made your ass look great. But it’s not like you wanted anyone to notice.

That’d be absurd.

So you pull on a pair of boxers you grabbed for blindly as you pulled on your shirt and hopped into your pants. After tugging on a pair of plain white socks, you were out of your room.

Camera.

Back in your room.

You take a moment to decide between the film or digital. In the end you take the film. You just got a new roll anyway, might as well put it to good use. You look out the window, still holding both cameras in your hand. Both the sun and the sky were nearing these wonderful shades of reds and oranges, and your imagination flared at the thought of the blues and purples that were to be coming upon moonrise.

You put down the digital.

Getting out the case and slinging the strap over your shoulder, you head out of your room. With a few minutes left to go until John is meant to arrive, you pull on your gray hoodie and adjust the strap back over your shoulder. You leave it unzipped. It’s still warm out, but the night chill of the east coast is still a little much for you, growing up in the Texan heat.

You slide into a pair of your converse that were kicked over by the futon, and situate yourself one last time. Winding your fingers through a few loose strands in your hair and adjusting your shades, you take a breath and open the door.

To which you find a surprised John Egbert.

His hand is raised like he was about to knock on the wooden plane, eyes a little larger than usual in surprise.

You couldn’t help but notice the way the deep oranges of the sun danced across his face.

Kicking the thought in the ass, you nod at the slightly smaller boy in greeting, to which he smiled back at you. “Ready?” he asks, excitement evident in his voice.

“As I’ll ever be,” you say, fingers gripping at the strap of your camera case  with what most definitely wasn’t nerves.

You follow John as he descends the stairs, little hops each time his foot pushes off a step. You trail after him at a casual pace, converse tapping against the dark metal, little clinking noises made as you go.

He continues to skip ahead of you, his blue zipper-up flapping like a small cape behind him. “You’re lucky it’s so nice out,” he says, turning on his heel, skipping back another step before stopping to wait for you. “Usually it starts getting cold around this time.”

You stride toward him, one hand still grasping the strap and the other wedged in your hoodie pocket. “Ok but slow down though,” you tell him as he turns to walk again, you still a few paces behind, “you’re supposed to be showing me where this place is, not running off to go play on the monkey bars.”

You can’t see his face as he continues to skip, but you hear a distinct giggle snort before he tells you, “Dave, you’re such a loser, calm down.”

“’M not a loser,” you say, a little too muffled for your taste. Damn, you sounded pathetic, get your shit together.

“Dave, what are you, five?” he laughs, turning on his heel again and waiting for you. “Here, happy?” he smiles at you, short silent laughs leaving through his nose and making his chest and shoulders shake with each one. Once you catch up those few extra paces, he begins walking normally, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve just got expensive equipment, ok,” you tell him, hand coming down to protectively grasp the case keeping your baby safe.

“ _Whatever_ ,” he says, and you can hear the smile on his face.

The streets are empty, spare a passing car and a few people hanging by the small drug store on the corner. Other than that, things are fairly quiet. You and John have fallen into a steady pace, each step matching the others as you walk. The sun is starting to get pretty low on the horizon, and you stop at a three-way intersection. John doesn’t notice, but hears you as you unzipper the case to take out the camera. The way the streets are, the height of the buildings, and the street across from you long enough to see the vibrant red of the sun, making the cirrostratus clouds around it glow with a beautiful orange.

You had to get a picture.

You bring the camera to your face, one hand adjusting the focus. The shot goes in and out of blurriness a few times as you try to get it perfect.

It takes you a minute, but John waits patiently, walking back the few steps he had wandered past you. He’s standing near your shoulder(looking over it) as you attempt to take this shot. It’s a little nerve-wracking, having someone with you while you’re photographing. The last time someone was with you when you did this, you were ten and Bro had just given you your first camera for your birthday.

It was personal, and the fact that _John_ of all people was the one sharing this with you was, well. . . it was personal for you.

You could still feel his presence over your shoulder, and you didn’t realize you had paused your ministrations until he asks, albeit a bit softly, if you were going to take the shot.

You feel the stammer in your throat before it can escape and you stomp it out with your finger hitting the shutter release.

He steps back, your back instantly cooler at the loss of his body heat and close proximity. You let out a short breath you hadn’t realized was hesitating in your lungs as you lower the camera down. You still feel him at your side though.

Carefully, you put the camera back in its case, and you both start walking again. Neither of you say anything, and you continue to follow John blindly as he leads you to your destination.

At least ten more minutes of walking, and you see what you guess is the park a block down. There’s a high stone wall surrounding it, but not high enough to fully conceal the trees and playground. John subtly starts walking a little faster, slight hops back in his step.

It makes you smile a bit.

Once you walk past the gates, John is already a few paces ahead of you, but you wander around, just examining the area first before taking any shots. John doesn’t follow you, and you let him do his own thing as you explore the new area.

The sun is almost gone now, the sky now varying shades of purples, pinks and blues. The last rays of light are struggling through the leafs on the trees to the side of the small clearing, near the jungle gym.

You snap a picture.

Letting the strap on the camera do its job as you carefully let go of the equipment, you turn, looking for John.

And you spot him.

“You know,” you say as you approach him, “I was joking about the monkey bars.”

“Shut up,” he tells you, swinging around on the metal bars, feet a few inches off the ground, “I haven’t been on one of these things for years, alright.”

He looks up at his hands as he swings to the next bar, missing your amused smirk.

The bars run in a circle, a ladder leading up halfway, just enough to reach the bars. At the other end, the bars attach to the larger portion of the jungle gym. It’s not low enough to climb up, though.

John releases his hold on the metal, and falls to the ground. Dusting off his hands, he walks over to you as you begin walking away, camera in hand again.

You take a few more shots of the trees, and a stone pathway with a canopy of leafs concealing the sky. There’s a few fireflies blinking about, and they look great as they add their light to the darkening sky.

John’s back on the jungle gym like the child he his, but this time he’s actually on the equipment, running up and down the expanse of the playground. You follow him, and he doesn’t notice your interest as you do so. You’re still holding your camera, and you wander over to one of the fireman’s poles they have attached to the main structure. He runs over and grabs it, wide smile on his face as he swings himself out, feet still planted on the metal platform.

Snap.

It’s done before you even realize you had your camera to your face.

He still doesn’t notice though, and you’re glad.

You put the camera back in its case, done for the night, and wander back over to the monkey bars. Setting the camera down on a neighboring bench, you climb up the short metal ladder and grasp the bars above you.

After you work your way out a little, you use your strength to hoist your legs up and through the gap in the bars above you. You hang there for a moment, knees over the bar and hands still grasping before you hoist yourself up the rest of the way.

Then you’re sitting on the bars, and the view is nice.

You can see over the stone wall. More empty streets, a few shops with their store lights on. To your right, you can see the supermarket and the movie theater, as well a tiny quad between the large street, making a short stop between the two ends of the crosswalk.

“Hey.”

You look forward and tilt your head down slightly to see John leaning against one of the poles.

“Hey.”

He’s sporting a small smile, lips closed, and arms crossed as he looks up at you.

“What’cha doing?”

“Chillin’”

“Enjoying yourself?”

You breathe in the crisp night air, and wrap your arms around your knees, which are propped up by your feet on the bar in front of you. “Come up?”

His mouth parts this time as he smiles, and you can see those teeth again. God, those teeth.

“Don’t know how.”

“What, c’mon, every kid at least once in their life has sat on top of the monkey bars.”

“Not me.”

Your hands fall to the bars next to you, holding them as you look down at him. “Well something obviously needs to be done about this, so get your ass up here, I’ll tell you how it’s done.”

He’s still got that perfect fucking smile on his face, and he looks down for a moment, then back up at you. “Okay,” he laughs softly.

“Alright, so,” you begin as he takes the bars into his hands, “make your way out a little.” He does so, then hangs there, waiting for your instructions to continue. “Now, swing your legs up, like, you would to hang upside down.”

Once his legs are hooked, he lets go, falling back and hanging there. His shirt rides up a bit, and you find yourself staring at his hip bones. “C’mon, blood rushing to head here.”

“You weren’t supposed to actually hang.”

“Pfft, okay,” and he swings himself back up, hands grasping the metal bars once again. “Now what, oh wise one?”

“Hoist your arms up through the bars there, where your legs are.”

“Dave, I’m not a gymnast”

“Shut up, asshat, you can do it.”

He whines at you, but does as you say anyway, and in a few awkward moments of struggling, he’s sitting atop the bars across from you.

“Congratulations, you made that harder than it needed to be.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, foot teasingly kicking your shin.

It’s quiet after that. You both just admiring the view. The sky cleared up and the stars above are all easily visible. John raises his hand, finger pointing high, and it moves like he’s tracing something. He’s talking, but you’re not really listening. You hear something along the lines of “Big Dipper,” as his finger continues to trace star patterns.

The moon is reflecting in his eyes, and fuck if it isn’t beautiful.

You wonder how bad it would be if you kissed him right now.

“Heh, what?”

He catches you staring, and his eyes are sparkling, his teeth look completely white in the dark light, and the moon is paling his skin with its glow. The fireflies are still out and-fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is bad.

\----

“I had fun,” he says as you both walk up the stairs back to your respective apartments. You nod and hum in agreement. You're holding the strap on the case more tightly than you should be, and you can feel John nervously glance at you.

“See you tomorrow?” he says hesitantly, stopping in front of his door, hand on the knob.

“Uh, yeah, tomorrow. . .”

There’s a beat of silence before he tells you goodnight, and you're too zoned out to reply before he heads inside.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath before sliding down to the carpet. You bring your legs up to your chest and bury your face in your hands, groaning into them.

This is really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama bomb
> 
> (not really)


	5. He's a handful, that one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants to know why Dave's been AWOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a really sweet ask on my tumblr about this story, and it really motivated me to get out another chapter!
> 
> so, i know its sorta short, but i hope you like it!
> 
> i hope the coding is ok, frickin ao3 wont let me see changes when i preview  
> i have a feeling im about to get pretty upset over codes
> 
> also hey!! you should, check out this super precious [first fanart](http://thesunmaid.tumblr.com/post/43523851159/whats-this-did-i-attempt-at-fanart-daves-butt) i got. im swooning
> 
> WOW look theres more!! [swoon](http://thesunmaid.tumblr.com/post/43563356127/fancymaplesyrup-i-drew-fanart)
> 
> AHHH and more!! IBISSS [i love u](http://thesunmaid.tumblr.com/post/43629453242/ibiscolors-dave-uh-oh-based-on-a-scene-of)

Tomorrow doesn’t happen.

Tomorrow doesn’t happen for a while.

It’s been five tomorrows, actually.

Not that you counted or anything.

You thought things had gone pretty good! Everything was just so easy around Dave. It felt like you had been friends for years, not only meeting just a week ago. And he seemed to enjoy himself. You had watched him scurry about with his “delicate” camera, taking pictures of the trees and sky as you swung on the monkey bars.

It was cool that he let you join him, and even though you were just showing him the way to the park, it’s not like it was hard to find. But, in his indirect way, he invited you along, so. . .

What happened?

You mull over this on your way home from your first day of classes, pouting at the sidewalk as you scuff your feet against the pavement. Your hand tightens around the black strap of your JanSport that you had tossed haphazardly over your shoulder.

You bet people could see the scowl on your face as you trucked on past the crowd, and why you guessed they had quickly stepped out of your way.

You’re just miffed, okay? You thought you and Dave really hit it off! And you were looking forward to hanging out with him the next day. You waited until noon, and then guessing that he probably slept in late, went over and knocked on his door a few times with no answer.

It was upsetting.

You mean, you guess he seemed a little weird when you both got home but. . .

You grumble to yourself the rest of the way home, and send a dismal glance at Dave’s door before heading inside your apartment.

Dropping your bag by the door and kicking your shoes off, you fall onto your couch and click on the television. Commercials are blaring at their ungodly levels, and you sigh, pulling out your phone from your back pocket.

You stare at the screen, Pesterchum loaded and showing your friends handles. He probably didn’t have one, it being such an old application, but the fact that Dave isn’t on the list, only reminds you that you completely forgot to get his contact.

You lock the phone and rub at the bridge of your nose, then push up off the couch.

The commercials are still yelling at you, telling you to buy products you’ll never need as you head into the kitchen. The light of the refrigerator encompasses you as you make a decision. You finally got back to the store and bought some more substantial food(as well as some snacks for a hangout that never happened), so you could eat more than eggs and cereal.

You don’t see anything that you feel would satisfy you, and you close the door. You hear the stick of the refrigerator closing at the same time you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

You pull it out, and see Pesterchum flashing. You wonder who’s pestering you.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 14:33 –

TT: I apologize for not reaching you sooner.  
TT: I know I had told you it would only be a few days.  
TT: But you know how things are with school beginning.  
TT: And Kanaya had insisted on preparing together.  
EB: oh, hey rose.  
EB: it’s ok don’t worry about it.  
EB: i know you’re always so punctual, you must’ve gotten busy.  
TT: John, is everything alright?  
TT: You don’t seem as vivacious as you normally do.  
EB: yeah i just. . .  
EB: actually it’s. . .  
EB: your brother.  
TT: What is it that he’s managed to do this time?  
TT: If he has, in any way, hurt you John, I will be more than willing to put him back in his place.  
EB: aha, no he hasn’t done anything.  
EB: actually he’s a complete dork, but. . .  
TT: But what, John?  
EB: um, rose?  
EB: is it okay if i come over?  
EB: i’m pretty bored.  
EB: and, maybe a little lonely. . .  
TT: Yes, John.  
TT: I would love it if you were to come over.  
EB: ehe ok, cool.  
EB: i’ll see you soon, then.  
TT: See you.  


\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 14:45 –

You smile to yourself. Rose has always been so cool with you, and even the times when she picks apart your brain, you’re glad that you have her as a friend.

You think this as you pull on your shoes and head out, still wearing your light jacket from this morning. Locking the door, you hop down the stairs and are out of the complex and down the street in under two minutes, where you sit at the bus stop. The surrounding glass covered in adds and small graffiti.

The bus pulls up not too much longer after that, and you hop up the steps and swipe your metro card before taking an empty seat more near the back. The seat is blindingly filled with retro colors and patters, and you're reminded about how they’re only like that to hide stains.

You see something that looks pretty crusty, and you turn your head to look out the window.

The bus stops to let someone on, and you pull out your ipod(which you remembered to charge finally) and turn on your classical playlist. It’s really just filled with some of your favorite pieces, and one your father helped you record before you graduated high school. Honestly, that one’s your favorite, mainly because of the memories it brings back.

The soft piano nearly lulls you to sleep, but you’re out of your seat when the bus arrives at your stop. You wish the elderly driver a good day as you hop down the few steps to the street. You can see Rose’s building from here. It’s much taller than your two-story complex, mainly because her apartment is much nicer than yours. You’ve been there once before, when you had all arrived. You, Jade and Rose had all planned a totally awesome sleepover, filled with movie marathons, popcorn and dumb sleepover games(mainly just truth or dare, because you found a cool website online with funny pranks, not that _you_ needed it).

The sliding glass doors part as you enter, and you make your way over to the elevators, pressing the up button and waiting for it to arrive. The bell dings and you step aside to let the passengers by before entering. No one else comes up behind you, and the doors close as you press the button for the 7th floor.

You take the buds out of your ears, and are greeted by the tacky elevator music as you reach your destination. The little bell dings above you, and you walk down the hall to Rose’s apartment as you shove your iPod back into your pocket. You knock on her door a couple times, and only have to wait a short moment to be answered.

The door opens to a dark brunette instead of the blonde you were expecting, but you weren’t surprised. “Hello John.”

“Hey, Kanaya.”

She smiles at you in that motherly way she does before letting you inside.

The apartment is wide and clean like you remember it. Light walls and white carpeting lit up by the wall length window on the opposite side of the room, showing a small balcony and a beautiful view of the surrounding area. The room is spotless, from the white couch to the clean kitchen.

That’s Rose for you.

“Hi, John.”

Rose comes out from the hall, socked feet silently padding against the carpet as she comes over to greet you. She hugs you gently and quickly, and as she pulls back, her hands slide down and hold your elbows as you hold her too. She’s smiling sweetly at you, and you smile in return. “So, what happened?”

Oh right.

She guides you over to the couch, and you both sit down as Kanaya moves into the kitchen. You hear cupboards opening and closing, and you guessed she was getting snacks together. Rose is sitting with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap as she waits for you to say something. You sigh, shoulders falling as you stare at your hands in your lap, fingers idly fiddling with each other as you think of the right words to say.

Instead you find yourself as what can only be considered as whining about your personal problems. A plus, John. Good work you get a gold star.

“I thought things were going so _well!_ ”

You’re pouting again as Kanaya comes back from the kitchen. Rose has been listening to you babble for going on five minutes now. You just know her brain is picking apart every word you say, but you could care less. Kanaya sets down a tray with what you believe is holding three warm mugs of hot cocoa, before taking a delicate seat on  your right.

“John, I know you’re in distress, but what exactly happened.” You’ve yet to actually _say_ anything about the sequence of events that night. Rose waits patiently, though.

“Well,” you say as Kanaya hands you one of the mugs, and you send a grateful smile in her direction as you wrap your fingers around the warm ceramic. “The night before, we kinda, got in this really dumb fight. I didn’t even know who he was at the time. But yeah, the next day I went over to apologize and, I really thought we hit it off. . .”

You take a tentative sip of the hot liquid, and you blow on it before taking another. “Well, he had mentioned how he liked photography, so I told him about the park in town. He, in an offbeat way, invited me along. . . I thought we had a lot of fun, and he’s definitely not as intimidating as I had thought. He’s just a dork who likes to climb on monkey bars and take pictures with his dumb camera.”

You find yourself mumbling as you near the end of your sentence, face nearly buried in your drink. They both remain quiet for a moment, and then Rose speaks up.

“John. . .” she hesitates a moment, like she isn’t sure she should continue. “Is it really such a problem that you two aren’t friends?”

Your lips quirk a little to the side as you stare into the still steaming cocoa. “I. . . guess not.” You sigh. “It’s just. . . I really, want a friend.”

It’s Kanaya who speaks up this time, her hand lightly moving to your shoulder. “John, you have friends. Many friends who love you dearly.”

“I know but,” you hesitate for a moment, trying to think of the right way to put this. “Well, you two are always hanging out together, and Karkat is always with his friends, and Jade is, well Jade. . . I just, want someone to hang out with, without feeling like I’m intruding.”

You try not to notice the look Kanaya and Rose share at your words, and your left hand moves to scratch awkwardly at the small hairs at the back of your neck. You laugh softly, and it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I think I should go.”

Rose says “John, wait,” the same moment Kanaya tells you, “Please stay.” Her delicate hand tightens on your shoulder ever so slightly, and it keeps you from moving from the space between them. You feel their concerned eyes trained on your face, and you feel really out of place at the moment.

“John, I’m sure my brother is just being difficult like always. I don’t think it’s even possible to not get along with you. I’ll talk to him-“

“Please don’t,” you interrupt, looking over at the blonde. “That’ll make me seem pushy and obnoxious. That’s the last thing I want to happen.”

It’s quiet again after that, the only sounds you hear are the passing cars down below. The two other mugs of hot chocolate are still sitting untouched on the coffee table, the steam rising barely a breath. You look down at your own mug, half empty and substantially cooler than before.

This was dumb, why did you come here.

After a good half hour of being with the girls, they finally let you go with the excuse of school work. They hugged you goodbye, and told you that you were always welcome there with them. You tell them thank you, and scurry out of the apartment as fast as you can without seeming rude.

Once back home, you fall onto the couch and kick your sneakers off. You’re a little cold, and instead of taking off your jacket, you pull down the blanket that you have hanging over the back of the couch and wrap it around yourself, cocooning in the fuzzy material. It’s warm already, having been placed in line with the window, and the sun streaming in.

They’re playing the third Ocean’s movie on FX, and you find yourself watching Matt Damon trying to seduce the bank’s assistant with an aphrodisiac. You burrow your face into the pillow you’re laying on. Things are so quiet.

For once you wish to hear the loud music from next door

 

\----

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 16:03 --

TT: Dave what are you doing.  
TG: im spitting out some sick beats with my brand as fuck new headphones  
TG: quality shit  
TT: That’s not what I meant.  
TT: Why have you been avoiding John?  
TG: im not avoiding him  
TT: Are you sure about that?  
TG: fuck off rose this doesnt concern you  
TT: John is a very dear friend of mine, and I care for him deeply.  
TT: It concerns me.  
TG: dammit rose  
TG: i dont need you getting on my back about this  
TG: just because i dont want to hang out with your dorky little friend  
TG: doesnt mean you get to harass me about it  
TT: From what I hear, things between you two went rather well.  
TT: So dont bullshit me.  
TT: You know I have a low tolerance for it.  
TG: you dont know anything about what happened rose  
TT: Maybe a little too well?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] blocked tentacleTherapist [TT] at 16:13 --

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school starts again tomorrow, so yeah lots of tests this week. i'll probably have to start working on chapter 6 this weekend, depending on my homework load


	6. Totally fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When that M tag becomes relevant

You knew it was childish to block Rose (and had no effect anyway, she just texted you until you turned off your phone), but what else was new? Fucking Rose, what did she know? Rose, with her majoring in psychology. Just because she was your sister didn’t mean she had the right to get involved in your private shit. You’re sure she’d beg to differ. She could go fuck herself. Maybe get Kanaya to do it for her.

Ew.

You mull over this as you walk back from the small town café, kicking a tiny stone down the sidewalk, one hand in your pocket while the other holds some fancy named double latte espresso something. You take a swig, the hot liquid near scalding your mouth, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. That’s a lie, you do care. You’ve nearly lost feeling in your tongue and the roof of your mouth is non-existent, but it’s keeping your mind away from unwanted thoughts. The same thoughts that have clouded your head since That Night. Fucking capitalize that shit.

You thought it’d be gone by now. It should be gone by now. But this fucking _crush_ , you shudder at the term, continues to rear its ugly head. Especially at the most inconvenient times. Private times.

In short, you haven’t jacked it for almost two weeks.

You were fucking irritable to say the least. You avoided him like the plague, tried not to think about him, put on your music when the tinkling of the piano would play. It did nothing. Honestly, you feel even more fucked than day one.

You shouldn’t use that term. Your mind goes places with it.

Boy does it go places with it.

That’s your problem. _The_ problem. You start out fine, alright? But then, he just. One second you're good, ok? Then he’s just _there_ and you feel terrible. A few more strokes and you stop yourself. It doesn’t feel right.

You’re so fucked up.

You nearly bump into an older, pudgy woman, more bags hanging off her arms than you thought possible. She shouts at you, “watch out!” and you scurry around and away from her without a sound, feet effortlessly gliding against the concrete of the sidewalk. She harrumphs at you before walking away.

You scoff. Chill out, lady.

You take another gulp of your coffee. Less scalding than before, but still pretty hot. It just adds to the numbness already in your mouth. It’s almost empty, you realize with distain and also surprise. You hadn’t realized you drank it so fast.

You’re nearing the complex, and you take your time, wading through people on the sidewalk as they hurry past with their iPhone gen whatever’s. You feel your own in your pocket, on silent and shut off. You don’t want to run the risk of phone calls. You’re trying to sort your shit out. You don’t need anyone’s help.

That’s a lie too, you probably need it, but fuck if you want it. You grew up learning to fight your own battles and figure your own shit out for yourself. It’s gotten you this far.

Once inside the complex, you scurry to the stairs, the birds the old woman was feeding dispersing until you’ve passed. You watch your feet as you quickly hop up the stairs, ready to make a break for your door. No.

You turn around as fast as you came.

“David.”

You freeze. The tone of voice alone sending shivers down your spine. You also hope it wasn’t loud enough to penetrate the walls, John could literally be ten feet away from you.

The thought makes your heart squeeze in your chest. God you fucking suck.

You turn around with a huff, eyes like daggers(unfortunately blocked by plastic) and you quickly push her inside before she can get another word out.

The door to your dark apartment closes with a slam, and Rose is hounding you as soon as you release her. “David, what are you doing!?” she yells, and you try to shoosh her, but to no avail. “Avoiding calls!? Really!?”

She’s calling you David, you know shit is serious. You back off.

Once a few steps back, she visibly relaxes, tense everything slouching as she sighs, hand coming to her temple. “What are you doing?” It’s soft, and a nice change from the yelling, but you know to be cautious. You take a tentative step toward her, just testing the waters. She doesn’t protest, and you take another. Her head turns to look at you, and you stop in your tracks. She laughs. Little breaths leaving her. It’s quiet. “You look ridiculous. I’m not that bad, am I?”

The Deer Caught in the Headlights look leaves your face as you take those last few steps up to her. You hold her shoulders first, and your empty hand moves to smooth out her hair. She sighs, a small smile on her face. “But, _John_? _Really?_ ”

You rest your chin on her head, smiling too. “Are you seriously judging me? Is that what’s happening right now?”

She pulls away to look at you, “I just,” she pauses, “I just didn’t think you two would end up like that.”

You pull back as well and walk over to your futon. Rose follows suit. “Have you been giving my love life lots of thought?” You fall back against the cushions, Rose sits down daintily, “Well, we probably wont anyway. I barely know anything about him.”

“You know how you fix that, Dave? By actually talking to people.”

“Fuck off,” you push her shoulder lightly and she smiles at you again. “I mean, who knows how he stands on the whole homo, bi, pan sexuality whatever. Well, if he’s friends with you I guess he at least tolerates it? Kanaya’s pretty dope, too. Is he friends with Kanaya? Who isn’t friends with Kanaya. But that doesn’t mean he’s up for a gay relationship. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Is that weird? I think it’s weird. I think I just need to get over him but I just _can’t_ I really don’t understand. I mean, he’s cute as fuck, but I still know nothing about him even after that night and this really sucks.”

She just gives you this amused look, then stands up, dusting off her skirt before turning towards the door. “You should talk to him.”

Her hand is on the knob and she opens the door. “Wait.” You clamber towards her, confused, but instead she continues outside. “Rose! Rose, what the hell!?”

“Goodbye, David,” she singsongs as she descends the stairs.

“Rose! Where are you going!? This shit is like your bread and butter!” She continues walking, and you run up to the fence, hands gripping the dark metal as you look down at her. ”Emotional drama!” She continues walking, and before she’s under the archway you yell out to her one last time. She just waves to you over her shoulder and then she’s gone.

You don’t think you’ll ever understand your sister. Fuck that “twin telepathy" shit.

It’s quiet again. The sounds of the birds below filling your ears. It’s chillier out now, and you feel the breeze rustle through your light jacket, making you shiver slightly. You take a breath as you turn your head to the right, looking at John’s apartment.

You huff, and walk over to his door. Do it fast, like a band-aid. Quickly, you knock before you can change your mind. Also before you can think of something to say. You just hope he’s home. Maybe you don’t. You don’t know. You’re anxious.

You realize a second too late that you're still holding your empty coffee cup, and before you can run back to your apartment to dispose of it, the door in front of you opens with a jolt.

And there he his. Goober teeth and all. He quickly looks you up and down, a gesture that would’ve been unnoticed if not for the way you grew up learning to never miss a detail. You can see his face contort as he tries to lessen his smile. It’s contagious. Almost. It would be if you weren’t so damn anxious. You keep yourself composed, though, falling back into your practiced poker face. You hope he doesn’t notice your fingers twitching around the paper cup.

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

You both stand there for a silent moment, John still holding the door open and your feet still planted on the stone. You cough to break the silence. “Oh!” John says, stepping aside. “Come in?”

You nod at him and walk inside, empty hand coming up to ruffle his hair as you pass. Holy fucking shit that’s soft(you keep a straight face at the new information, pretending you didn’t notice). His smile deflates as he immediately tries to press down stray hairs. “Miss me?” You ask with a smirk, turning to him as he closes the door.

He’s still playing with his hair when he responds, upturned smile on his face. “Yeah, lots,” he says, slight annoyance in his voice. You can tell he’s not really mad, though his hair still refuses to stay put.

“Oh my god,” you say, walking up to him and helping him situate himself, “it’s fucking alive.” You put your empty cup on the floor, then slap his hands away. He laughs. “Let me work my magic.”

“ _Magic,_ ” he repeats, laughing still. He drops his arms though, head tilted downward slightly. Really, you just want an excuse to run your fingers through his hair again. You do try your best to tame it, but in the end, the ruffled look seemed to actually work the best.

Your hands linger for a second too long, and you pull them back once his head starts to shift back up. “So. . .” he says, obviously at a loss for what to do next.

Instead of replying, you pick your cup off the floor and wiggle it between your fingers. “Trash?”

“Oh it’s uh, under the sink.”

You make your way leisurely over to the trash, taking in the new surroundings. The layout was pretty much the same as your own apartment, just mirrored. The kitchen was up against the right wall, sunlight from the neighboring window lighting up the counter top, but slightly skewed by the refrigerator. Beneath said window sat his piano, the clean white keys reflecting rays of sun and making the plastic shine.

After disposing of your trash, you turn around and examine the rest of the apartment with a quick glance. He’s got the television up against the same wall as the door with an old sofa situated a reasonable distance from it. It wasn’t ratty, it just looked used. You could see a number of video games both neatly stacked under the stand supporting the television and scattered about around it. On either side of the screen were two stands holding what could only be called a collection of movies.

This fucking kid.

Across from you was a short hall, which, by comparison to your own place, should lead to the bathroom and his room. You were curious as to what he kept in there, but you weren’t about to go walking into his private space. And besides, you could see him watching you, waiting on the couch.

You take a breath and head over, empty hands finding their way into your pockets. Still nervous, but you don’t want to let it show. You can’t let it show.

You situate yourself in a relaxed position, slouched forward and eyes investigating the titles in front of you. You see some average video games. A few Halo’s, Modern Warfare, some others. You just skim over the names of the movies, too many to read individually. You’re amused to find a large amount include Matthew Mcconaughey. You try to pronounce the name correctly in your mind a few times, then give up when you can’t.

You can feel John’s eyes on you. Either that or nerves. Maybe both. Probably nerves. You take a sly glance at him front behind your shades. His hands are fiddling with each other in his lap, and due to the fact that his eyes aren’t concealed by dark plastic, you can see the sly glance he’s giving you in return.

Oh god, oh god, abort.

Your fingers play with the loose strands in your pockets as you break the silence. “Mcconaughey?” You are 99% sure you pronounced that wrong.

“Mcconaughey!” He corrects you, hands lightly fisting. You honestly don’t find a difference in the two pronunciations, but you guess there must be due to his stern tone.

You smirk back at him, hands rising in surrender. “Untwist your panties, Egbert.” He pouts at you in return.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” he says, mildly frustrated. “Mcconaughey is awesome, you blow, the end.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. What nerves? You are totally sure that you never had them and never will.

You sigh through your teeth, lips pursed. What now? This is definitely not how you were expecting this encounter to go. You wait for him to say something. Anything. You have no idea where to go from here. For the first time in your life, you’re at a loss for words.

“So um, uh,” he stutters, and you turn your head slightly in his direction to let him know he has your attention. His eyes are trained on the movements of his fingers as they bump together. “How have things been?”

Not the exact conversation starter you were looking forward to answering. You were tired, stressed, sexually frustrated, your sister continues to give you headaches and this fucking dork sitting across from you is the root of half of your problems. Instead of saying any of this however, you reply with a nonchalant, “Average.”

He nods a few times, “Same.”

And then it’s quiet again. Ugh, why did you listen to Rose? You could be sleeping right now instead of having to deal with this mess.

“Oh!” he exclaims after another silent minute, jumping up from the couch and stumbling over to a few bags sitting on the bar counter. You turn your head to follow his movements. The sounds of shifting plastic and the movement of whatever the bags held as his hands dug around inside crackling in your ears. He pulls out something resembling a movie case with a triumphant “Aha!” then returns just as clumsily.

“I went out earlier and checked out GameStop!” You quirk your eyebrows in interest. “And in the Xbox section I found this!” He shoves the case in your face, literally two inches away and you (definitely do not) flinch back at the sudden movement. You reassure yourself that you only jumped because of years  of growing up with sporadic strife’s with your Bro.

Upon closer inspection, you find it’s just an old copy of Left 4 Dead 2. “On sale and everything! I’ve been looking for it, but I just wasn’t finding it. And then BAMB, there it is!”

“There it is,” you parrot, smirk on your face. You can’t believe how worked up he is over this game.

“You wanna play?” He asks you in the most sincerest way, and you think God would kick a puppy if you said no.

“Why the fuck not?” you stretch, “It’s been a while.”

“Cool,” he smiles, turning around to face the television. He opens up the tray to the Xbox that was apparently there the whole time and pops it in, then reaches behind the console and grabs two controllers, tossing one at you.

The intro starts, and you click passed it out of habit. John lets out this upsetting “Aww!” and you almost restart the game just so he could watch it.

But then you get to the loading screen and he’s already setting up your private campaign. You choose Ellis. “I will be Ellis forever and always.”

He gives you this funny look and chooses Nick. You start with Dead Center instead of jumping to Dark Carnival like you usually do. John still has yet to play this game, and you continue to berate him for it.

“Well who has the higher kill rate, asshole?” You shut up.

You pick up the katana immediately when you find it, and John gives you another strange look(smile ever present). “Really?”

You flick your bangs and get more comfortable, making Ellis swing the katana back and forth a few times. The hick says something with his southern accent and Rochelle tells him to shut up. “Fuck yeah, katana’s are the shit.”

“Pfft,” he laughs, firing his secondary pistols at oncoming hoards as you slice your way through. “What? You don’t even know how to use one.”

“Excuse you,” you say, taking a precise headshot before continuing. “Do to.”

“Videogames don’t count, you loser.”

“Who said I was talking about videogames?”

“Do not.”

“Do too,” you reply with a smirk.

“Do _not!”_

“Dude,” you say, “There is literally a beautiful piece of swordsmanship sitting on the other side of that wall,” you jerk your head in the direction of your apartment. “If there was roof access I would totally be showing off right now.”

“Roof?”

You don’t respond, though, and continue fighting your way to the safe house. The Tank music started up and you do _not_ feel like dealing with that asshole last second. John lets it drop and closes the pixilated door behind the party. Your characters rejoice and the stats for the level pop up. John beats you by ten kills. You jab his side at his laughter and he jabs back.

“You’re such a dork!” he says, still laughing.

“Am not.”

“Oh please, Dave,” and he looks at you like you’ve had this strong friendship for years, and you find yourself believing it, too. “You are the dorkiest dork to ever dork.”

“Look who’s talking,” you tell him, a little disgruntled, and getting ready for the final level of the campaign.

He calms himself and raises his right hand like he’s taking an oath. “I, John Egbert, as of this moment, declare it will be my duty in life to remind you, Dave Strider, that you are in fact, a dork.”

He laughs again as you push him, and he pushes you back with just as much vigor. Maybe more. Either way, this dissolves into more pushing and shoving until you’re both outright wrestling. Controllers lost, he pushes you back on the couch, but you’re quick to push him in return.

He slips off the side and brings you down with him to the scratchy carpet, where you continue to roll around, trying to pin him as he attempts the same. Your breathing is slightly labored, and he isn’t much better off, yet he still manages to keep laughing.

You push him back but with arm muscles you were shocked he possessed, he rolls you over, knee accidentally brushing your groin. Your breath hitches, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You try to push back but, oops, there’s that knee again.

But like the goober he is, he’s totally oblivious to your growing hard on and continues to pin you. Fingers interlaced with your own against the carpet and straddling your stomach, he finally holds you down. The fucking bastard is still smiling, breathing heavy and face flushed.

Your own feels too warm to be healthy. If he moves down just an inch, you’d be blown.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The only sounds in the room are your short breaths and that of flesh hungry zombies on screen, still waiting for you to open the safe room door.

You feel your eyes bugging, and you are so glad for your shades.

In one fleeting moment you push him back, pulling your hands from his. “Gotta go.”

You’re out the door in a second, the last thing you see being John’s disappointed and confused gaze as you leave.

You feel like a dick.

But the literal dick in your jeans has higher priority at the moment. You’re just thankful he didn’t notice it. Who knows how that could’ve gone down.

In a(literal) flash, you’re in your bathroom. You turn on the hot shower with a flick of your wrist and remove your shirt, but take time unbuttoning your tight jeans, sighing at the released pressure as you slide out of the denim.

You step into the tub as water sprays down from above, and you let out a shuddering breath as the hot water hits your more sensitive areas. You’re still breathing heavy, and your right hand comes up to wipe the water from your face and through your hair.

Calm, calm, calm.

Your breath doesn’t seem to cooperate, and only gets shallower as you rethink the last half hour. John, and that fucking soft hair of his. John, and those fucking teeth. John, and that smile that never seems to leave his face, accompanied by that perfect little giggle snort.

Your brain seems to short circuit, mind spinning. John, John, John, “ _Fuck,”_ you sigh. You rub at your eyes, no longer concealed by your aviators. The room is dimly lit to accommodate your sight, and you can only make out a vague shape of steam rising.

Not the only thing that’s rising.

You don’t even examine yourself, there’s no fucking need to. You’re painfully hard, which should be expected. You’ve been avoiding this longer than you should have. You’ve just been building yourself up because you are actually an idiot.

Left hand against the wall supporting you, water trickling down from above as your right massages circles around your inner thigh. Your legs are dangerously weak and you haven’t even touched yourself yet. A+.

Slowly though, you move your hand to lightly prod before grasping, and you let out a silent moan at the contact. OhthankfuckingGodohjesus. You pump once, then twice, working up a slow rhythm. Your eyes flutter shut, mouth parted. Fuck, fuck. Dark hair, blue eyes, fuck. You hesitate, hand lightly encompassing your length as you debate like you had the last three times.

But unlike those times, you continue.

Biting the bullet, you continue pumping, hand moving slightly faster than when you began. Mouth still parted, air still leaving you in sharp breaths, your legs are about to give out, and before you fall on your ass, you lower yourself. You lean back against the tub, the cold air finding parts in the curtain to seep in and over your shoulders and chest, making you shiver. You don’t stop though, you don’t think you even can.

Knees spread as far as they can go in this small space, your left hand moves down your chest as your right hand continues giving the attention to your cock that it badly needed. You shudder again as your left hand reaches your thigh, thumb massaging circles on the inner side, moving higher with each swirl. Your right hand follows the movement and swirls the head before descending again.

Your head falls to the side, panting heavily and trying to keep quiet. Out of habit, really. Breath hitching, face contorting as you feel yourself getting close. Blue eyes, laughter.

God you wonder what that tongue would feel like.

That’s all it takes for you to come hard with a very audible cry. Back arching, a pop created from the water sticking to your back as you move off the base of the tub. You stroke yourself through your afterglow, feeling goddamn amazing.

The hot water continues to rain down on you as you try to catch your breath, washing your spunk down the drain.

You can still hear that goddamn laughter ringing in your ears.

 

 

You get out of the shower a few minutes later, feeling so much more like your usual calm and collected self. Pulling on a pair of boxers, you walk out into the living room, scrubbing at your hair with your towel. With a sigh, you fall back against the couch, and hear a curious crunch as you do so. Shifting out of the way, you reach under your leg and pull out a small piece of paper.

_ectoBiologist.  
You might find this useful._

_-Rose._

For a moment you have no idea what you’re looking at until the possible placement of that username makes sense to you.

 

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:02 –-

TG: ectobiologist  
TG: wth does that even mean  
TG: i get your whole biology thing going on like im not stupid but  
TG: wait  
EB: who is this?  
TG: yeah that probably should have came first  
TG: sup its me  
TG: rose totally snuck me your chum handle  
TG: i know right  
TG: total lack of privacy  
TG: anyway hey  
EB: dave?  
EB: uh, hey!  
EB: what the hell happened with you?  
EB: you kinda just, ran out.  
TG: yeah sorry bro something came up that i completely forgot about my bad man  
TG: didnt mean to split so fast  
EB: oh that’s ok!  
EB: it was just, really fast aha.  
TG: yeah i feel like a dick  
EB: no really it’s ok!  
EB: (:  
EB: see totally fine!  
TG: that is one reassuring smiley  
EB: ehehe.  
EB: so, um.  
EB: would it be totally weird to invite you back over?  
EB: later, i mean.  
EB: when you’re done with your thing.  
TG: yeah man sounds cool  
TG: does 2 sound ok  
TG: just gotta finish up around here might take a while  
EB: yeah sure!  
EB: besides you totally left before i could finish kicking your ass at that campaign!  
TG: yeah yeah whatever  
TG: i was obviously letting you win  
EB: yeah, OBVIOUSLY.  
TG: is that sarcasm i sense  
EB: maaaaaaaaybe.  
EB: guess you’re just going to have to come over and find out.  
TG: youre so on

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 12:11 –-

 

You’re so fucked.

But this time.

You’re looking forward to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that probably sucked aha my first go at it
> 
> i promise i'll get better at writing that stuff once we get to the actual sex
> 
> so, i plan on making this actually p long. also from now on i'll probably make most of the chapters in johns pov


	7. A storm's a comin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texan baby Dave can't handle the winter weather

By the time Dave had finally came back over, you had picked up a couple of scattered articles of clothing and set out a few snacks for whenever. No hangout was complete without Doritos. At least that’s what Dave had said as he made a beeline for the bag within seconds of his arrival, ripping it open and getting comfortable on the couch. If you owned a coffee table you are positive that his feet would’ve been propped on it.

Aside from the fact that he ate all of your Doritos, you had a lot of fun. You started Left4Dead from the beginning(Dave whined like a child) and played through the campaigns in one go. You also got to watch the beginning sequence this time. It really pumped you up. Dave still made a show of using the katana, hardly using any firearms and just slicing his way through each level. You still have your doubts that he actually knows how to use one.

You wasted a good few hours on the game. Dave took it upon himself to kill every witch and took minimal to no damage for each one. The first time he did it you flipped your shit, but his only response to you was an airy laugh as the blood splattered. He ruffled your hair and told you to relax. You wish he’d stop doing that, it takes a lot of effort to tame your wild strands in the morning.

Dave was actually really great at this game. He made sure to sign into his own profile to get the rewards he earned. You got some too, but less than he did.

You still got more kills though.

And that’s totally not because you just wave your gun around like a lunatic.

It was dark out by the time you both finished the game, and Dave refused to leave your apartment, so you sighed(laughed at him) and made some popcorn while he scanned movies on his Netflix account. He said your movies sucked and you took great offence to that. He brushed you off though as you tried to stand up for some of the classics.

Some people just wouldn’t know good cinematography if it hit them over the head.

Dave was actually a pretty clingy person. You find this out as you watch each bad excuse for a horror film, and while he berates it along side you, his presence at your side surprised you. One minute he seemed to be situated on the other end of your sofa, the next he’s sitting two inches from you. You don’t think he noticed, and you only did when your elbow bumped his side as you grabbed some popcorn from the large ceramic bowl. He shifted at the contact, but didn’t move away, and you found it slightly endearing.

You didn’t say anything, just kind of smiled a little and turned back to the screen.

It’s been a while since that day. Fall came and went, dying into winter. You were always excited around this time, what with the promise of snow hanging in the air. The most you’ve gotten so far were a few days filled with flurries that wouldn’t stick no matter how much you begged. Granted, winter only just started, but those days you would look to the sky, instead of the city with its leafless trees and grey, grey, grey.

Your classes have been going well. Your professors are great people. Well, the majority of them. Your Stats teacher is kind of a nut job and you’re positive your Philosophy teacher has it out for you. You pull one harmless prank and suddenly you're the spawn of Satan.

Jade did in fact join a sorority. Feferi’s, actually, and they hit it off really well. Unsurprising, however. The combination of their bubbly attitudes made it easy.

You began dragging Dave along to Sunday mornings at the café with Rose, Jade and Karkat. He protested at first, but once he met Karkat(and found how easy it was to push his metaphorical buttons) he decided it wasn’t so bad. When you both got home after their first meeting Dave was in hysterics.

Speaking of the little town café, that’s where you're headed to currently. Dave’s on your right as you both walk down the concrete of the sidewalk, little white specks twisting around the both of you as you go.

Due to growing up in Seattle, the cold weather doesn’t faze you in the slightest. Your nose is a little red and you're wearing a nice jacket, but compared to Dave you look like you're taking a trip to the beach.

He’s wearing both his hoodie and a jacket(faux fur on the inside included), warm boots and a beanie. His blond hair sticks out at odd angles under the wool and blows in the wind. Of course he’s still wearing his shades, something you’ve gotten used to, and his gloved hands are shoved into his pockets.

You laughed at him when he came to your apartment this morning, and you could feel the hate radiate off him in waves.

Poor little Texan baby.

Shops are beginning to set up holiday decorations, and it makes your chest light with spirit. Big, red bows are on shops and the grills of the busses. Garlands wrapped with colorful lights frame doors and windows. Christmas scenes either set up or painted on the glass.

There was just a certain excitement created from it all.

The café itself was decorated subtly. The warm, white lights usually attached to the overhang have been threaded with garland themselves, little red bows tied at perfect increments. The door chimes as you both walk in, and Dave shivers and rubs his thickly clothed arms at the new heat. All you have to do is smile cheekily at him, and it’s enough for him to shove you with a gloved hand.

You can see his smile, though.

You see Rose and Jade at your usual table, and Jade waves you down. “John! Dave!” Rose turns over her shoulder to look at you both as you approach. They’re already scooting over to accommodate you, and you take a seat next to your cousin while Dave sits down next to Rose.

You take off your coat and hang it over the booth. Dave keeps his on, but removes his gloves. His thin fingers are actually pretty pink, and he rubs his hands together trying to create some warmth.

Rose is wearing a nice, thick, cream turtleneck and Jade has already busted out her Christmas sweaters. They’ve already ordered(you were late again), and you see half empty mugs of hot cocoa, marshmallows melting in the liquid and creating a sugary foam. You can see two wrapped candy canes by the mugs that you guess came with the drinks.

“Hi you guys!” Feferi skips over, check pad in hand, “know what you want to order?”

“Can I get what they had?” you gesture to the mugs on the table, and she nods and hums as she writes down your order. Dave just asks for the same as you and Feferi skips away into the kitchen.

“Where’s Karkat?” The table is oddly devoid of loud expletives and sarcasm.

“Sollux needed him for something I think,” Jade pipes up from her near empty mug of warm cocoa.

“Yes, I believe he’s having Karkat test one of his new programs before he makes it viral,” Rose is quick to clarify, unwrapping her candy cane easily without breaking it.

“Aww,” Dave pouts, sarcasm included, “and I was _so_ looking forward to his company.”

“Dave, stop,” Rose scolds him, and he sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Vriska is the one who returns with your drinks. Slipping the steaming cocoa from her small circular tray, she winks at you and ruffles your hair with her free hand before departing.

Why do people keep doing that.

You immediately open your candy cane and use it to stir your drink. The three small marshmallows already dissolving. You know your hair probably looks hilarious right now, but the cocoa smells too delicious to wait. You feel Jade playing with your hair, but instead of stopping her you continue to down your drink.

The mug now near empty, both hands bring it back down to the table. You feel the sensation of a definite milk-stache, and you lick it clean with your tongue. You see Dave smirking at you, slowly stirring his candy cane in his full mug.

You stay for another round, then decide you should all head home before the storm gets any worse. From your seat at the window, you can see that the flakes have gotten progressively larger, sticking to the ground and creating a thin dusting of snow that will only get thicker.

So you pull on your jacket, Dave gets prepared for the tundra, and you say goodbye to the girls before departing. The little bell above the door chimes as you go, and the cold air hits you like a wall. You button up the top button on your coat then follow Dave down the sidewalk, hands in your pockets. “Who’s laughin’ now?” he sniffles, and you elbow him in the side.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll be home soon.”

You take the short route home, skipping the park. Snow banks were beginning to pile up, plows were taking to the streets and the amount of people outside was dwindling. A good movie and a fuzzy blanket sounded perfect right now.

“FYI, I’m coming in,” Dave says as you enter your apartment, him right behind you.

“Dude you have your own apartment,” you say as you toss your jacket over the back of the couch, “why aren’t you ever there?” Of course you don’t really mean this. In all honesty, you really enjoy his company, snarky attitude aside. Well, no. Snarky attitude included.

“Because it’s so much fun to leech off you,” he says, kicking off his shoes and falling onto the couch. He still has his coat and sweatshirt on, and he bundles himself in them like a cat, bringing his knees up and under the fabric.

You laugh silently and grab a few warm blankets from the compartment/small bench behind the couch. You toss the thicker one over his head, and he lets out a distressed noise before taking the blanket and adding it to the layers of his cocoon.

“Scoot over, I’m sitting,” you warn, already plopping down on him. You push a breath out of him as you fall, his legs moving to accommodate you.

“Dude, this is highly uncomfortable,” he says as you get comfy on his lap, already wrapping the blanket around yourself and burrowing in.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now stop grumbling and put on a movie or something.”

With Dave Strider, his grumbles and whines were all a part of the package. And he does so as he reaches over for the remote. You hear the channels changing, and then stopping on the voice of Charlie Brown. After years of growing up on this cartoon special, you already know what’s playing in a heartbeat. Still, you crack one eye open to see Charlie and Linus discussing Christmas.

The channel is playing Christmas movie marathons. Ones like Elf and A Christmas Story play, then are lined up to repeat again later.

Dave is surprisingly comfy, and you bury your face into the blankets surrounding him as you get more and more sleepy. At some point, his fingers manage to worm their way through your hair and over your scalp, dull nails massaging the skin there.

It’s incredibly soothing.

You manage to fall asleep at some point, and you wake up however much later to Dave shifting beneath you. You’re still half asleep, but you hear him say, “Dude, I gotta go.”

“Nooo,” you whine, arms moving to keep him from leaving. You just want to continue sleeping on this comfortable boy, is that too much to ask?

“Yeees,” he mimics you, hands coming to yours to remove your grasp, “schoolwork unfortunately calls.”

“I refuse, you cannot leave. A pillow at this point would be unsatisfactory.”

You hear a breathy laugh escape from his lips. “Is that all I’m good for to you?”

“I am just using you Dave, this relationship means absolutely nothing to me,” you say, but relent and bring your hands to your chest. You feel his arms worm their way under your torso and heave you a bit so he can move. You sigh when he rests you back down on the couch, his warmth still there. You hear some sniffling and a cough as you begin to pass out again. “Nigh’ Dave,” you say groggily, face buried in the cushions.

“See you, Egbert,” you hear as the door closes, and you’re out.

 

 

You wake up the next morning slowly, then jolt out of your warm cocoon. Fuck, it was Monday. You have class. Or should. You see your phone on the floor, light flashing to indicate a notification, and you pick it up quickly. It was a mass email notifying students about cancelled classes. Oh thank god.

Groggily, you rub at your eyes, then grab your blankets and wrap them around yourself. The television is still on, and ABC Family is now playing their shit made for T.V. movies. You groan and change the channel to something else.

Once you decide on a channel, you sniffle and stand up, then pad over to the window to see how much snow you got.

The sun is masked behind large, dark clouds as they continue to deposit snow on the town. Looking down to the street, you hear snow plows and see the yellow flashing of lights as they make their way down the roads, plowing more snow onto tall snow banks. There’s a few cars which are braving the weather for work, and you hope they don’t hit any ice on their drive.

In addition to the already decorated buildings, the thick snow lining roofs and windows really makes it feel like Christmas. You feel your chest swell, and turn away from the window after another long look.

Your stomach grumbles as you pass the kitchen, and you realize that you forgot to eat dinner last night. So your socked feet pad over to the fridge and examine your choices. In the end, you decide to make some pancakes. So you fumble around in the cabinets and refrigerator until you have all of the supplies you need, then get to work.

As a child, you father’s excessive baking had made you borderline crazy, and if you didn’t watch how much of it he fed you, you are positive you would weigh a lot more than you do now. But as you got older, you started to appreciate it. Well, at least the parts where he taught you some pretty killer recipes. Homemade of course. None of that box shit.

Especially Betty Crocker. Ugh.

As you begin whisking the mixture, on a whim you decide to make some for Dave too. The few times you actually find yourself at his house, all you see are take out boxes and leftovers around the place.

An actual substantial meal should be nice for a change.

When done, you pile the pancakes onto a large plate and cover them with tin foil to keep them warm as you get dressed. Once you do so, you shove on a pair of boots, a jacket, and pick up the plate.

It’s another story when you open the door, however.

The snow is a good six inches deep, and is blocking your way next door.

You see some curious footprints leading from Dave’s door and down the stairs, however.

Running back inside, you put the plate in the microwave and run back out the door, following the footsteps down the stairs and out of the complex.

You feel like Nancy Drew.

The prints stop once you reach the sidewalk, however, but you take a guess as to where he went. Following the path around the building, you reach the parking lot for the tenants, where you see a heavily clad figure attempting to shovel out their truck.

Yep.

You prance over(as best as you can), and stop behind him. He’s got a thick hat on, fuzzy ear flaps protecting him against the harsh breezes that pass by. His coat is the same one he was wearing yesterday, hoodie included, but instead of snow pants, he’s just wearing normal jeans and a pair of thick boots.

“Morning,” you call, rocking on your heels.

The scraping of the shovel stops and he turns to you, sniffling hard. The parts of his face that you can see are tinged a bright pink, and he smiles at you, a feat that was almost unseen due to the large scarf wrapped around his neck. He turns back to his shoveling, “Hey.”

You raise the hood on your coat and shove your ungloved hands into your pockets. “I’m surprised you’re up already.”

“Well, it is Monday,” he breathes, arms lifting to toss the snow to the side, “classes were a thing that was possible.”

You guess. You continue to rock on your heels and purse your lips, looking at the rest of the lot. It looks like someone had came by and plowed a good portion of it away, but the cars were still blocked behind tall snow banks.

For once you're lucky you don’t own a car.

You feel pretty useless just standing there next to him as he continues to shovel large heaps of snow out of the way. Well, you guess it’s shoveling. Honestly, it’s a lot of awkward movements and heaving. You’ll cut him some slack, though, he’s never done this before.

You still laugh at him, however.

“Shut up you ass,” he says as he goes to move another heap of snow. “This is,” heave, “more tiring than it looks. Besides I don’t see you shoveling.”

“Not my car,” you smile.

“Consider pillow privileges revoked, then.”

“Aww, what,” you whine, “that’s fucking evil, man. You have no idea how comfortable you are.”

“Then get shoveling.”

You squint at him and turn to go get your shovel. On an impulse, you turn back, quickly bring your boot to his ass, push, then run, cackling. You hear a distressed cry of “Egbert!” as you depart. It wasn’t enough to push him over, but enough to get the seat of his pants wet.

You do in fact find your shovel, then return and help him out somewhat. He’s got about half of it cleared by the time you make it back, and you show him how real shoveling is done.

It’s still snowing by the time you both finish, and Dave is coughing as you head back up the stairs. It makes you feel a little bad for the footprint on his ass, but you made pancakes so, you’re sure he’ll forgive you.

He raises his hand to you in parting as he enters his apartment, and you wave back before entering your own. Instead of getting comfortable however, you run to the microwave and grab the pancakes, then back out the door, completely ignoring the wet tracks you left. Dave’s door is unlocked and you push the door open and make a dramatic entrance.

To the eyes of no one.

You look around and don’t seem to find Dave anywhere. You do however, see a very full trash bin of tissues, some having missed their destination and now lay on the floor around it.

“Dave?” You call, setting the plate down on the counter. It’s a little disorienting being in his apartment, due to the mirrored effect. You don’t hear any response, and walk down into the hall. The doors are closed, but by comparison to your own place you know which one his room is. You knock lightly on the door before entering.

Inside is messy. What you assume to be dirty clothes are scattered about, his coat shed on the floor by his bed. He’s got a very expensive looking computer sitting on a large desk against the wall, and Brookstone speakers hooked up to the monitor. Lots of CD cases are piled by the desk, but they’re unlabeled, and look like he bought them in a pack from Wal-Mart.

Looking over to his bed, you spot him. You can see his hoodie peeking out from the covers and some of his hair feathered out on the pillow, but he’s buried too far in to see his face. On his bedside table, you see his shades, and you are instantly curious as to what his face looks like without them.

You hear sniffling and he shifts, and you sit down on the bed, making sure to avoid his limbs. “Hey,” you say, poking his leg, and he brings them up to his chest. “Dave, hey,” you poke his hip this time, and he grumbles. “There’s food stuff if you want any.”

He lets out a pretty nasty cough, and worry etches into your features. “Dave, are you alright?”

He sniffles again, and his arm reaches out for the tissue box. He can’t reach it though, and his hand just uselessly swings for it. You lean up and push it closer to him and the grabs a few, pulling them back down under the blankets. “Dude,” you hear come from under the covers, “you should leave before I get you sick or something.”

Eyebrows stitched in concern, you hesitantly move your hand up and massage his side as he continues to blow his nose out of sight. He sniffles some more and you see a tissue arc and land near a small trash bin by the desk.

“I’m gonna call Rose,” you say as you reach into your back pocket for your phone.

“Don’t,” you hear him, clearly now. You look up to see his head popping out from under the covers, shades already on his face. His nose is raw from all the rubbing, and it’s pink like a cherry. “I don’t need her taking care of me.”

“Bluh,” you pout, putting your phone back in your pocket. She probably wouldn’t be able to come, anyway, due to the snow. But you can’t exactly stay either. You still have some last minute work to do for classes.

Dave turns back over and burrows into himself, and you see his arm outstretch with his shades in hand, then place them back on the side table. You sigh and stand up. “You hungry?” You ask as you move to leave the room. You hear a muffled sound that sounds a lot like a “No,” so you leave.

Five minutes later, you return, books in hand, and you drop them on the coffee table in the living room. Dave may not want it, but you’d feel more at ease if you knew someone was at least there just in case he needed them. You are the someone in the case, but still.

So you open up your books and get to work. Mr. Thompson, your insane Philosophy teacher, assigned a large quiz for Wednesday. You’re a little upset, due to the fact that you just started this unit, so reviewing sounds like a good plan.

A little bit of studying later, you decide to take a break. You get some pancakes out for yourself, but instead decide to make some soup for Dave. Soup when your sick on a cold winter day is always great. At least in your experiences.

So you get to work, taking the opportunity to cook again, a hobby you had taken up late in high school. Your father was ecstatic.

Surprisingly, he had some vegetables stocked in his fridge, but you’re going to guess Rose was the one who put them there.

You grab a pot from one of the cabinets down below and get a boil going.

Halfway through cooking, you hear feet quietly pad out of the hallway. You're guessing the smell brought him out, and you smile. You don’t turn around to see him though, but you feel his presence at your back. Also his sniffling.

You feel his head rest on your shoulder blade, and you freeze for a moment, but relax and get back to the soup. “Hey,” you say. “Hungry?” You feel him nod, and you laugh a little, stirring. “It’s almost done.”

He laughs a little, and you ask what. “You’re such a fucking housewife,” he sniffles.

“Hey!” you object, “I don’t have to be making this for your ungrateful ass.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs again, and you decide that yeah, you really like his laugh. You don’t say this however, and instead tell him to go sit down. He nods again and obliges, waddling over to the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you see his whole figure, wrapped up in his comforter and making a train behind him.

When the soup is done, you reach into the nearest cabinet and grab a ceramic bowl, then ladle the meal into it. It smells pretty great, and it tastes even better. Good going, John.

Getting a spoon out, you take the bowl and head over to the couch where Dave has situated himself. The T.V. is on, and he’s searching channels as you sit down and hand it to him. Setting down the remote, he takes it from you, hands outstretching from the confines of his blankets to grab it.

You lean forward and read from your books again. You hear the metal spoon clink against the ceramic as he eats.

It’s quiet in the room, save for the actors on the screen. You feel eyes on you, and you flick your own in his direction, pausing your reading. He looks back down at his bowl, spoon stirring the soup, and his lips turn up. Is _the_ Dave Strider _bashful?_

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sniffling still, “for. . . this.”

You smile, turning back to your books. “Dude, if you’re sick, I’m not gonna leave you to survive on left over Chinese food alone. What kind of friend would that make me?”

He lets out an airy chuckle and sniffles again.

Looking back at your books, you really feel like you’ve studied all you can. You just hope your professor keeps only information you’ve learned on the test, unlike last time.

So you close your books, and get off the couch to get one of the stray tissue boxes that had fallen on the floor. You come back and hand it to him, then pat his head as he takes it. “Don’t touch me I’m contagious. I could kill you.”

“Calm down you baby,” you tell him, sitting back down on the couch, closer to him this time to prove a point. “You just have bad cold, I’ll be fine.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, setting his already empty bowl on the coffee table.

“I had some pancakes,” you say, getting comfortable. You reach over and grab his Xbox controller from the table, using it to boot up Netflix. “Anything in particular?” You ask, letting him chose. He’s the sick one after all.

He just shrugs, settling back into the futon. His little tissue box is sitting next to him, ready to be used if need be. He sniffles again.

As you continue to scan tittles, Dave gets increasingly more picky as you attempt to chose different options. Finally you relent and hand him the remote, telling him to pick then. He grabs the controller from your hands and pulls his arms back into the warm cocoon of his blankets. He scrolls past the tittles and lands on Bob’s Burgers, then plays the season from the beginning.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to watch Bob’s Burgers,” you say, falling back against the futon next to him. He just shrugs again.

The episodes go by quickly, and you’re already nearing the end of the season. Neither of you had said anything as you watched, a few chuckles here and there, but nothing much. “You didn’t have to stay with me,” Dave says somewhat quietly.

“I wanted to,” you smile toothlessly at him.

“. . . Why?”

Why? You turn to him, smile gone. “Because you’re my friend, and you’re feeling like shit. I just, wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He doesn’t look at you, but keeps his head fixed on the television. He’s silent again, and you turn back to the screen yourself. After a few moments, you see a subtle movement out of the corner of your eye. Dave is shifting in your direction this time, and you laugh, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him to you. “You dork,” you smile as he struggles, but he’s too wrapped up in this blankets to push off you properly. He slumps, admitting defeat. Instead of letting him go however, you pull him closer, trying to situate him. He feels oddly stiff in your arms as you do so.

For the lack of pillows you announce, “I am the pillow today,” and rest his head on your lap. He still feels pretty stiff, but slowly he relaxes into you. You continue smiling, and run your fingers through his hair soothingly like he had done to you the previous night. It was soft like downy feathers.

His breathing slows and evens out, and you hope classes are cancelled tomorrow, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is unaware to how couple-y he acts around his blonde friend


	8. Hey so there’s this thing for that holiday, wanna come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy 4-13 everyone!!

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up to find yourself still seated on Dave’s futon, his head under your fingers and his hands curled in your lap. He’s still out cold, softly snoring into your rumpled jeans, and you pull the blanket back up over his shoulders.

You feel on your thigh where his shades are jutting into your skin uncomfortably, and you know it couldn’t be any better on his end. Slowly, as to not wake him up, you ghost your fingertips over the pristine lenses, and they reflect the episode lineup on Netflix in their plastic as you gently slide them from his face.

There’s small, red lines on his cheek and the bridge of his nose from the frames, but without the obstruction you can, for the first time, see all of his features.

His eyes were still closed, blond lashes gently pressed against his cheek and stuttering with deep sleep. His equally blond hair falling over his forehead, a particularly long strand tickling at his nose. Before you could even give it a second thought, you were brushing them off of his face, and his brows twitched at the contact. You freeze, but he doesn’t wake; just sighs through his nose and falls back into his slumber.

_Is this weird?_ You think, fingertips lingering by his ear. You guess it might be, but you’re total bros, right? The best of bros. Bromigos. You have your bro rights, and dammit, if that includes finally seeing your friends entire face for the first time, then so be it.

You take a long look at his dusting of freckles. Only being able to see the dots on his nose, the possibility that there were probably more underneath that dark plastic hadn’t occurred to you. But boy, were you wrong.

They dusted over his pale cheeks, some nearly reaching his forehead and ears. They danced along his jaw line, his neck, all the way down before hiding under the collar of his shirt. You traced them with your eyes like a connect-the-dot puzzle.

Finally, his eyes, probably the things you wished to see most. Getting to know Dave over the passing months has left you with a better understanding of his emotions and his desperate tries to hide them. For what, you’re not sure, but you’ve learned other ways to understand what was going through his mind. The way he would seem to hunch into himself when he was nervous or upset, the way his lips would purse when he was aggravated, how his nostrils would flare when he was angry, but most importantly, how his lips would quirk into a strained smirk, something you’ve learned means more than just his snarky quirk. The little crinkles mostly masked behind his shades when he smiled, when you would make him smile, left you feeling giddy.

Of course you never questioned this feeling in your gut that resembled the sensation of butterfly wings tickling your insides. It was that you made Dave happy, and that you knew it, too, whether he did or not. It was always so easy for him to get a reaction out of you, and you took pride in the moments you could see through his wall. Or maybe the times he let you.

You don’t notice that your fingers had been tangled beneath his feathery strands once again, mindlessly massaging against his scalp, and you also don’t realize when he begins to stir. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and his hand moves out toward the coffee table like he’s looking for something. Folded in your palm, you slide his shades between his fingers, and he takes them from your grasp, sliding them back over his eyes.

“Morning,” you say, and you feel his shoulders flinch.

Rolling over, he looks at you from behind dark lenses, left arm draped over his forehead. Slowly, he’s waking up, sniffling, tongue gliding over his teeth from behind closed lips, and he stretches his back, taking a deep breath as he does so.

He turns over again, pulling the blanket up once more and making himself comfortable. “Hey,” he mumbles against you. His head is facing your stomach this time, and the fact that this is probably a very intimate situation doesn’t seem to occur to you. Instead you release a breathy chuckle, hand moving to boop his nose.

“You planning on getting up?”

“Not really, no,” he responds, sighing into your lap. “You’re pretty comfortable, I could probably just stay like his all day.”

“Except not,” you tell him, “because food is a thing that needs to be in my stomach. Also I might still have class, depending on the snow.”

“Too bad for your class then, gonna be down one Egbert.”

You laugh, _“Daaaave.”_

_“Joooohn,”_ he mimics.

“Seriously, though, I want food, man.”

He groans into you, squirms a bit in what you assume is a mini tantrum, and relinquishes. You slide out from under him, and his head falls to the warm cushions you left. You hear him sigh into them, and he pulls the blanket around him tighter, legs curling up beneath it.

The first thing you do is scurry over to the window and peek through the heavy curtains. You were expecting to see daylight, instead of the dark skies and streetlights illuminating the snow-covered road beneath. It was still snowing, surprisingly, and you could tell by the little flurries that danced under the warm glow of the streetlamps. A snow plow passes by, yellow lights flashing as it clears the road.

You let the curtain fall from your grasp, and it sways as you walk away into the small kitchen. The light of the refrigerator temporarily blinds you as you open it, looking for something substantial to eat. Of course, this being Dave’s apartment, there isn’t much more than some leftovers crowded between apple juice containers. You see your plate of day old pancakes where you put them, shoved in the bottom shelf.

“Don’t you ever have any real food?” you ask, eyes rescanning your bland choices.

“China Garden is as real as it gets, bro” you hear emanate from the couch. You rummage your hands around, trying to see if anything was being obstructed, and you hear, “Keep your mitts of my sweet and sour chicken.”

You sigh and grab a cold pancake, and it flops around in your grasp as you close the door. You walk back over to the couch and slide under the amount of covers you can. Dave’s feet kick against your thigh as you try to get comfortable, and you push them back with a laugh. “Let me sit, you ass.”

“You can be my pillow again, but otherwise. . .” and he kicks at you once more for punctuation.

“Why must you be so cruel to me?”

“It’s called tough love, sweet cheeks,” and he snuggles back into his thick comforter.

You nibble on your pancake, cold and unsatisfying, and you turn your attention to the television. Netflix is still stalled on Bob’s Burgers, and the playlist suggests that it finished as you both slept. Your eyes scan for the controller, and you spot it above Dave’s head.

Oh so casually, you reach for it, chest leaning against his hip. He shifts uncomfortably at the weight. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Shut up, I want television,” you say, grabbing the remote between your fingers. You slide back triumphantly, and Dave kicks at you again.

“Will you stop that?” you ask, exasperatedly.

“No,” he sniffles.

You waste a good two hours mindlessly watching whatever you think sounds interesting, and you dose off watching old episodes of Adventure Time.

You wake up some time later, same cartoon still playing, but you realize Dave is awake this time. You see a new box of tissues on the coffee table, adjacent to what seems to be an empty container of sweet and sour chicken. He’s got his arms folded beneath his head, and his feet are resting comfortably in your lap.

You stretch, rubbing at your eye from beneath your lenses, and Dave notices. His socked foot taps against your stomach, “Mornin’.”

You hum in acknowledgement and run a hand through your hair, ruffling the strands. “Ugh, I need a shower. Also I want breakfast.”

“Sorry, bro,” Dave says, “quarantine zone. I’m afraid I can’t let you leave the apartment.”

“Are you suggesting I shower here then?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, and his feet move to push at your arm. You laugh as he presses you against the armrest, but push him away when the wood jabs into your ribcage.

“Ok, ow,” you laugh, and his feet rest next to your side on the mattress.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, somewhat quietly, and turns back to Adventure Time.

You get up and stretch, making a show of having the hem of your shirt rise a little. “Alright,” you say, “where are the towels.”

He sputters a little, “Dude, I wasn’t being serious. You don’t really have to shower here.”

“Sorry, bro,” you smile, hands behind your head, “quarantine zone. I’m afraid I can’t leave the apartment.”

You wait for his reply, but it never comes. “Fine,” you laugh, “I’ll just go find them myself, then.”

You hear no rebuttal from Dave as you walk down the hallway. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on actually showering here, but you could tell how flustered he was getting, and your pranksters gambit took pride in that. So, here you were, rummaging through his hall closet for towels and smirking to yourself.

The sounds of cartoons are muffled as you close the bathroom door behind you, and you set out your things on the counter. You strip your shirt over your head after removing your glasses, and set both down next to your towel.

“Pants,” you say to yourself as you shimmy out of the denim, then kick them to the side by the toilet. Your fingers hook in your socks and roll them off, dropping them to the floor. Once you’re left standing there in your dashing Slimer boxers, the idea that this might be kind of weird dawns on you.

_It shouldn’t be weird,_ you tell yourself, _friends share showers, it’s no big deal. It’s only weird if you think it is._

You nod to yourself in a reassuring manner as you step into the bath, hand turning the knob and adjusting the heat before turning on the showerhead.

Once to your liking, you switch the pipes, and the water cascades down from above, running soothingly against your scalp and over your shoulders. You felt like you were in your own shower, aside from the cinnamon scented shampoo and the very pink luffa sitting on the edge of the tub. You refrained from questioning the pink object, blaming it on Dave’s big, lame irony shtick. You also refrained from looking at it, but totally not because he probably washed his junk with it. Pfft, of course not. What luffa? You are positive there is no luffa. You are also positive that you weren’t just thinking about your friend’s nether regions.

You take what you consider to be your fastest shower to date, and hop out after shaking some water from your head. You pat yourself down and scrub at your hair with your towel before putting your clothes back on. You’d rather be wearing clean clothes, but you weren’t about to ask Dave for a shirt or anything. This whole situation was already a little weird for you, even though you are positive you are overreacting.

You walk back out into the living room, and you see Dave sitting upright against the back of the couch. “Do you think the pizza man would be delivering right now?” you hear him ask. “I could go for some pepperoni,” was mostly said to himself.

“Dude, what is it, like, 10 am? And aren’t roads still closed and stuff?”

He groans, and you see his shoulders shake in disappointed fury. “Dammit,” is whispered.

“Dude, you can make pizza,” you tell him, laughing as you go and take a seat next to him.

“Not like the Italian’s,” he mumbles dejectedly, and you chuckle at him.

“I’m sure you have enough Chinese food in your refrigerator to last you three weeks, anyway.”

“One can only eat so much Chinese food in a day, John.”

“Then why do you keep _buying_ it?” you laugh, and push his shoulder against yours as you do so.

“Because unlike _some_ people, I can’t cook for shit. I am the master of the microwave, it is me.”

“That’s sad,” you tell him, still smiling.

“Egbert, I will slap that smirk off your face, so help me God.” He sniffles again and reaches for the tissues.

“Calm yourself, princess,” you say, standing from the futon, “I can cook again.”

“Ugghh, please do,” he says, falling down with a flop onto the mattress. “Your cooking,” he says, then makes that motion where he kisses his fingertips, “heaven.”

“I should start charging,” you say, walking into the kitchen. You hear the cartoons continue to play as you open up cupboards, looking for things to cook. You find a box of spaghetti sitting above some Reese’s Puffs, and you set them down on the countertop.

From the vegetables you used yesterday, you find some nice looking tomatoes, and you set them out next to the pasta.

Five minutes of shuffling through ingredients later, you have all you should need to make some pretty basic pasta and sauce. The smell of olive oil and tomatoes and onions and seasoning mixing together flood your nostrils and you breathe it in. You guess the same went for Dave, because you hear one of the chairs at the bar counter slide out.

You get the noodles started, setting the pot to boil as you stir around the sauce some more. You hear a sniffle from behind you that sounds suspiciously more like a whiff, and you smile because yeah, it does smell damn good.

Once the sauce is done and the pasta is nicely cooked al dente, you grab two bowls from the cabinet. Adding a generous amount of noodles to each bowl, you ladle on the sauce, and shred some parmesan to top it off. You turn around to face Dave, bowls in your hand, and you set them down on the bar counter. He’s texting away at his iPhone furiously, and when he notices the food, he puts the device down immediately, hands instead grabbing for the fork.

“John Egbert strikes again,” he says, talking around a mouthful of food, and you giggle, twisting your fork in the noodles before taking a bite.

A few silent minutes pass as you both continue to eat, you leaning over the counter instead of actually taking a seat. A few more chews later, Dave speaks up. “Hey,” he says, swallowing the remaining pasta in his mouth. You look up in interest and wait for him to continue. “Rose um. Well, it being like, Christmas and stuff. . .” You quirk your eyebrow. “Alright well like, every year Mom throws a Christmas party and Rose wants me to like, invite you or whatever. . .”

“Christmas party?” You ask, fork hitting against your empty bowl.

“Yeah, it’s usually for family and whatever, but Rose was pretty adamant about you coming.”

“Why?” you chuckle. “ I mean, it sounds fun and stuff, but if it’s usually just a family thing. . . I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No it’s okay,” his words seem a little rushed. Forced. “She um, wanted me to invite Jade too and stuff.”

“What about my dad? We were planning on me going home for Christmas.”

His lips pout a little, and you can see the downward arch of his brows from behind his shades. “He can. . . come? If he wants.”

This was pretty. . . sudden, but both Dave and apparently Rose seemed pretty adamant about you coming to this party. “I guess I can ask him?”

He nods(to either you or himself, you're not sure), and finishes up the last of his pasta. “Jesus, Egbert, so delicious,” he says, grabbing your bowls and placing them in the sink. “Perfect,” and he shuffles back over to the couch and wraps up in his blanket once again.

You. . . guess you’re going to a Christmas party?


	9. ROAD TRIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave takes John home to meet the family

“Dude I’m so excited for this, you have no idea. I’m like, the epitome of excited, it’s me. So excited.”

Your head is resting on your crossed arms, and you inwardly groan. It was December 14th, and your holiday break just began. You were sitting with John at the town café like usual, it being too cold at the park to sit on the benches. You look over at your mug of steamy hot chocolate, and the continued excited sounds coming from your friend’s mouth didn’t seem to have an end to them.

John had gotten the approval from his dad to come to Rose’s place for Christmas, and honestly you aren’t sure what to expect. Rose is already aware of your ugly crush, but your brother knows you better than anyone, and you _know_ that he’ll be able to pick up on it like a dog to ass the minute he steps foot into the house.

But on the other hand, you are pretty excited that John’s coming with you. Well, Jade and his dad are coming as well, but the fact that John is among them makes your chest all fluttery in a really gay and unsettling way.

His talking is mostly background noise to you now. You’re pretty tired. John’s been hanging out with you a lot more frequently, and although you have no gripes about this fact, your delicate sleep cycle has been knocked off balance. It’s like some kid whose elbow hit the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. The fruit has fallen, and now it’s scattered on the tile in a colorful mess.

You sigh at the terrible metaphor and tilt your head to look up at John. He’s looking down at you, eyes wide, his blue pupils bright and animated. His smile is perfect in its dorkiness, moving quickly with his words, and you feel your chest strain. You inwardly punch yourself.

“So we leave-“

“Tuesday.”

“I’ve gotta get my suitcase out!” He gasps, “Oh no! What am I gonna do about Casey!?”

You lean up from your place on the table, “Okay, first, you need to chill out. Second, I’m sure one of your friends can take care of her.”

John visibly relaxes, reclining back in his chair instead of leaning over the tabletop. His mug sits full to the brim next to your own drink, and he grabs it, gulping down a hefty amount. When he pulls the mug away from his mouth, he has another chocolate-stache on his upper lip, and you find yourself smiling like you had the last time.

“But yeah, we’re gonna be there for a couple weeks, so you should pack a lot. Bring some things for the car too, it’s like an nine hour drive.”

“More like I’m bringing a blanket and a pillow, I’m sleeping on this trip.”

“If this is as excited as you are now, and we haven’t even _left_ yet, wait ‘till you’re actually in the car.”

His lips quirk to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. “Shut up. We leave at like, what? Five a.m.? I’ll totally pass out.”

Your waitress comes by, a short little redhead with a blue beanie, and her freckled hand comes down and takes John’s empty mug. “Refill?” she asks, and John nods at her before she parts.

“Whatever, bro,” you say once she’s gone, “but know that if I have to drive without company, I’ll be playing my own playlist.”

He laughs at this, “Oh no, I’ll have to sleep through indie music.”

 

 

“Turn it _OOOFF!”_

You laugh, the music of Katy Perry, One Direction and Taylor Swift flowing beautifully out of the speakers.

This playlist was reserved for the times you would ride with your brother. He had his own as well, and it was like a war of who could have the most obnoxious, repetitive music. Of who could frustrate the other the most.

You would run to his truck from your apartment, just to try and beat him to the Aux cord. Most of the time, he would beat you with his more practiced flash stepping, but others would find you leaving the apartment at least an hour before he was ready to leave.

But back to your present situation.

It’s the morning of the 17th, and you’re driving down the near empty highway. John’s trying desperately to fall sleep in the passenger seat, his blankets wrapped over his head, and he’s got the ends of his pillow folded over his ears.

You’ve been in the car for almost an hour and That’s What Makes You Beautiful plays for the third time. Your iPhone sits in your lap, and John had given up on turning off the radio long ago.

You were a persistent mother fucker.

John does manage to fall asleep a good half hour later, and once you hear his breathy little snores, you turn the playlist to something you can enjoy.

The music is soft as you drive down the quiet highway. There were only about two other cars driving alongside you at the moment, and you found a strange comfort in the red glow of their taillights. The billboards are illuminated by old bulbs, telling you how many miles to the next McDonald’s. You wished they served fries at six in the morning.

You look back over at John after a particularly large bump in the pavement to see if it jostled him any. He was still sound asleep. His hands had fallen from their grip on the pillow and curled against his chest. You couldn’t see much of his face from this angle, as he was facing more towards the door, but the glow of the passing streetlights illuminated him out of the darkness of the car, paling him momentarily until the next light passed.

You resist the urge to pull his blanket back up over him, and instead turn the heat up. Eyes on the road, Strider.

There’s a hefty amount of snow piled up on the sides of the road, and a few flurries found themselves melting on your windshield. Your stomach grumbles a little bit, and you reach for the open bag of Sour Patch Kids in the cup holder. You pop a small handful in your mouth, the sourness shocking your taste buds. It keeps you coherent, though.

John doesn’t wake up for a good three hours, and by the time his eyes crack open, the sun is trying its hardest to break through the dark clouds.

“Five hours left,” you tell him as he shifts up, pulling the blanket securely around himself and adjusting his pillow before relaxing again. He groans out an “Ew,” as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

You still have your preferred music on. You decide he’s had enough torture for the morning.

“Hungry?” you ask, tilting the candy bag in his direction.

His laugh comes a little late, still waking up, but he pushes the bag away as he does so. “Put the candy away, fatass, it’s not even ten yet.”

“Wow, I was joking, asshole. Way to lower a girl’s self esteem.” He rolls his eyes. “But seriously, are you hungry? There was a billboard for Cracker Barrel about a mile back.”

His stomach answers before he can even get a word out, and you smirk. His hand pushes against your cheek and you let a laugh escape through your lips. “Just take the exit, loser.”

You do about ten minutes later, and you pull into the parking lot, finding an empty spot with ease. You hop out of the car once you pocket your keys and grab your wallet, and John detangles himself from his blanket and seatbelt before following you to the entrance.

“Hi and welcome to Cracker Barrel!” a very peppy waitress greets you with once you both walk through the doors. “Two?” she asks before the doors even close, “Follow me!”

You and John share A Look before hesitantly following her into the dining room.

It looks just like every other Cracker Barrel in the world, and you take your seats at a table against the wall. There’s a sweet, elderly couple sitting at the small table across from you, and a particularly loud family near the windows, but other than that the room is filled with average people getting something to eat before heading back out on the road.

John’s large menu is open in his hands, and he’s holding it in a way that conceals his face from your view. You’re just going to get some pancakes and sausage.

You order some apple juice when your waitress comes back, and like the child he not-so-secretly is, John orders chocolate milk.

“Dude, you know what you want yet?” you ask him a good five minutes later. He’s still flipping back and forth between the pages, and now you can see his eyes dart across the large sheets.

“There’s so much and I’m so hungry,” he says, and his stomach growls for added punctuation.

“Just get what you want. I’d like to order soon.”

“I don’t need three meals though. . .”

“Whatever, man.”

The waitress comes back with your drinks in hand and asks if you were ready to order. You tell her what you want, and get some white toast last second. John orders pancakes as well, toast, bacon, and a fruit cup. Your waitress tells you your food will be out momentarily before skipping off.

“Sleep well?” you ask as he rubs at his temples.

“I slept as well as one could being curled up in the passenger seat of a dingy truck.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” you scold, “Christine is beautiful.”

“Christine?” he asks, quirking his brow.

“Christine.”

“Like, John Carpenter’s Christine?”

“What of it.”

“Well for one,” he starts, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, “your car looks nothing like Christine,” you open your mouth to retort, “except for the red paint job. And two? That movie was about the car _killing_ people! Is that what you really wanna think about while you drive down the highway? Your impending doom?”

“Hey, Movie Christine was turned into a metal cube at a junk yard.”

“But then the grill starts to fix itself before the movie cuts out! Christine is still out there, man!”

John’s voice reaches a new octave just as your waitress comes back with your toast. His face also tinges an embarrassed red, and he thanks her quietly before she departs. You laugh.

“Seriously, though,” he mumbles around a bite of his buttered toast, “I’m just sayin’.”

Your smirk becomes a little more of an honest smile as you look at him. He’s avoiding eye contact, looking to the side and taking slow munches out of the rest of his toast.

A few minutes later, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It was a text from Rose. Her and Jade had arrived at Rose’s place yesterday, and mom wanted to know when they should be expecting the both of you. You tell her you should get there at around four if the traffic stays light.

She doesn’t make any snarky remarks having to do with John, yourself, or the fact that you both were alone on this trip, and you silently thank her for it.

Your food comes not much later, and you dig in as soon as your waitress departs. John eats a little more daintily than you, and he picks at his bowl of assorted fruits as he watches you scarf down half a pancake out of your stack.

You sit up straight as you chew, and John laughs, index finger scratching at the side of his mouth. “You got a little. . . something.”

You swallow down what you can, and use your napkin to wipe away the syrup that had dripped down your chin. “Ugh, I feel like I’m five.”

“It’s okay, you make it look good, I swear,” he laughs.

You totally don’t allow yourself to blush at that. No way. It’s just a little hot in here, that’s all.

You both finish up your food, but before you leave you head off to the bathroom to wash the sticky residue off your chin from the syrup.

You come back to find that John had migrated to the front of the restaurant where all the toys and trinkets were. You see his mop of hair behind some shelves near the back. You grab a cowboy hat and a toy pistol as you migrate over to him as stealthily as you can. On a second thought, you go back and grab the cheap gun holster as well, strapping it around your hips.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” you say, making your small Texan accent into more of a drawl than usual.

His shoulders hunch as his hands raise, and when he turns around, you lose it.

“The fuck is that?” you laugh, hand holding the plastic gun falling to your side.

“It’s a Beagle Puss!” he exclaims, hands adjusting the accessory over his thick frames. “I’m totally buying them. My last ones got crushed, unfortunately.”

“You actually owned one of those monstrosities?”

“Hey! Every notable prankster owns a pair of Beagle Puss. It’s like, prankster law, or something.”

“I know I bought our breakfast, but I am not adding that thing to the list.”

“I have my own money! Calm down, cowboy.”

He removes the frames from his face and folds them neatly before scurrying over to the counter. You trail after him, putting back your own props where you got them. You hold the hat in your hand, and on a whim, you take it with you to the register.

“Why did I buy this thing?” you ask, mostly to yourself as you both get back into the car.

“You look like Sherriff Woody,” John laughs, putting his bag in the back seat.

You throw the hat at John’s face, then start the ignition. His laughs get muffled by the start of the engine, and he tosses the hat into the backseat as well.

John hijacks the aux cord before you can turn on your iPhone, and snickers triumphantly, plugging in his iPod. He tosses your phone in the direction of your lap, and it falls through the space between your knees.

“Better be good, Egbert,” you tell him as he scrolls through his playlists.

“Relax, it’s a Fatboy Slim album.”

“This is not Fatboy Slim,” you state as the song starts, interrupting John’s humming.

“No, but it’s on the album, so shut the fuck up.”

You do so as you turn back onto the highway, and John sings along to the song as it continues to play. It’s not too bad, you admit.

You find yourself harmonizing with John during the third chorus, and he smiles his big, happy, goofy smile at you as he continues to sing.

This boy is too much.

When the song ends, the track plays some of the songs you’re more familiar with, and your hands tap along to the beat on the steering wheel. John continues to sing along. He needs to stop being so endearing. It’s going to make you slip up on this crush one day.

John removes his iPod from the jack, cutting the song short as you pull onto the private road. Your mom had never moved once you and Dirk left, and you feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you drive down the path. The old tire swing Dirk had made for you both still hung from one of the trees in the open yard.

You remember camping out there, once. You were adamant, Rose was indifferent, and Dirk helped you raid the blankets from the shelves you couldn’t reach. He taught you how to start a campfire with two sticks because you were out of matches. He said he would have used a magnifying glass had the sun been out.

You remember when you had found a lost puppy wandering in town, and you hid it in your jacket like the little kid you were, who thought they could actually sneak the animal past mom. She found out, of course, but let you take care of it until you found its home. You would play fetch with the little beagle in the yard for hours.

John’s excited bouncing brings you back to reality, and you park behind Rose’s  Corolla at the end of the driveway. You don’t see your brother’s truck, and you sigh thankfully.

“Ahh! We’re here!” John exclaims as he hops out of the truck, missing the step and scrambling to keep his balance once he hits the ground. His grin is like a beacon as he runs around the back, opening up the cover on the truck bed and grabbing his suitcase. You hear it hit the ground, pebbles moving with his motions, and you take a calming breath before hopping out as well.

You grab your things, tossing your bag over your shoulder and grabbing your suitcase with your free hand. John waits up for you by the steps to the front door, and you both turn as you hear it open.

“Hello, boys,” Rose greets from the doorway. She’s got a bowl in her hands, and she stirs her spoon in it. Mom must’ve made soup.

Jade’s next to make an appearance, and she barrels out through the door, shoeless, and hugs John around the shoulders after hopping down the steps. “You’re here!”

“I’m here!” John responds, letting go of his suitcase and bringing his arms up to wrap around her back.

“What, no heartfelt sibling hug?” you sarcastically ask your sister.

“I don’t have my shoes on,” she smiles. There’s a noise from inside the house, and some muffled yelling, and Rose turns back to you, grinning. “Yes they are!”

“Dave, baby!”

Your mother comes sprinting out of the house, skips down the steps, and hugs you in a fashion not unlike Jade had to John. “Hey mom,” you smile, hugging her close and kissing at her temple.

“I’ve missed my baby so much,” she says, hand on the back of your head as she continues to hug you to her chest.

“Yeah, I missed you too, mom,” you say, pulling back. You spare a look over at John, who was watching you both. “Um, this is John.”

She lets go of you and turns to the boy in question, still smiling. “Hi Mrs. Lalonde, I’m John Egbert.”

“Please,” she slurs the tiniest bit, “Mrs. Lalonde was my mother. You can call me Roxy. Now c’mon everyone! Get the soup while it’s still hot, let’s go, everyone inside, it’s freezing out here.”

You follow the train of people up the stairs, and kick off your shoes at the door. Rose does actually hug you once you remove your jacket, and you hug her back with your left arm as you hang your coat in the closet.

You keep your arm around her shoulders as you all walk into the large kitchen. It smells like food, and your stomach grumbles in want. Roxy makes the best chicken noodle soup. Campbell’s ain’t got shit on your mother.

She ladles out a good amount for the both of you and sets them out on the island counter. “Here you go, Davey,” she coos. John laughs at the pet name, and you elbow his side. “And Johnny, too.” He thanks her as she turns back to the pot.

“Have you heard from Dirk?” you ask before sipping at your soup.

“Nothing yet,” Rose answers  from her seat next to you. “When I had called him last, however, he had mentioned the possibility of him not being able to come this year.”

“Dirk?” John asks.

“Bro,” you tell him. “Um, older brother,” you correct yourself. Calling him Bro was really just habit.

“C’mon everyone!” Jade yells from the doorway, “Another guest has arrived!”

You all run to the large windows in the living room and look out. A taxi was parked next to your truck, and a man was getting his things out of the trunk. “Dad!” John yells, and runs around the group to the door. He swings it open after clumsily slipping into his shoes, and you all watch from the window as he jumps down the stairs to greet his father. In a blink John is at his father’s side, and then there’s a pie in his face.

He wipes it off with ease, and they hug each other. His father pays the driver as John takes his things inside, then follows his son up to the door. “Hello,” the man greets.  John takes his coat and hangs it up in the closet with the others.

Roxy is the first to approach him. “Mrs. Lalonde,” his father says as he removes his hat, revealing his perfectly cut and styled salt and pepper hair. He takes her hand in his free one as says, “It’s a pleasure.”

Your mother turns back to the group with one of her Looks before turning back to address John’s father. “There are too many gentlemanly Egbert’s in my household. Please, call me Roxy.”

“Well then,” he says, releasing her hand and setting his hat back on his head, “Thank you, Roxy, for inviting my son and I to your home for the holidays.”

She giggles, twirling her hair between her slim fingers. “The pleasure’s all mine.” You cough to get her attention. “Oh! Follow me, boys, I’ll show you to the guest rooms.”

You all grab your things and follow Roxy up the stairs. She shows John’s father to his room first, and he thanks her again before taking his things inside. “Now, Rosie said that you two would be fine with sharing a room?”

Before you can correct her, John is already answering “Aw yeah! Slumber party!” in his perpetually excited manner. You feel your chest tighten, but you're too much of a pansy to say anything.

So that’s how you find yourself in your shared guest room. You were extremely relieved when you opened the door to find two twin beds instead of a single queen. John was in the bathroom, washing up before you both head back downstairs. You were sprawled out on one of the beds, hands hanging off the sides and feet on the floor. You had unpacked most of your things already, and they were now sitting in the no longer empty drawers against the wall by the door to the bathroom.

John’s things were sitting next to your open suitcase by the window. He still had yet to put anything away. “You done yet?” you call.

“Calm down, almost.”

He comes out a few minutes later, pie gone from his hair and donning a clean shirt. He goes over to his bag and digs around, and you totally don’t admire the curve of his ass in those jeans, oh no. He stands up and turns to you, the glasses he got from the Cracker Barrel are perched on the bridge of his nose. “Perfect,” he says.

“Why do I associate myself with you, again?” you ask as you leave the room, and he adjusts his glasses over his usual lenses.

“Because you love me, that’s why. Now come on! They’re setting up movies!”

Your heart stops in your chest at his words, because how could he know he couldn’t. But you come to your senses, realize you’re an idiot, and follow him down the stairs back into the large living room.

John runs over to his dad and struts off his glasses like a dork, and you take a seat in the recliner. A Christmas Story has started on the plasma, and you wrap yourself up in the blanket that was hanging off the back of the chair.

John curls up next to Jade on the couch, and they huddle under a shared blanket. You hear a jingle from the hall, and look to see Jaspers prancing out into the room. He was just an average tuxedo who Roxy strapped a red bowtie around. Silently, he jumped up onto Rose’s lap, and she made room for him, stroking his back.

Roxy comes out of the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate, and you take the mug when she hands it to you, ruffling at your hair.

You watch movie after movie until it’s late in the evening, and the phone rings as you all are eating dinner. Rose gets up, and puts it on speaker once she knows who it is. “Hey everyone,” you hear the low voice of your brother greet.

“Dirky!” Roxy exclaims from her seat on the couch, and she scrambles to the phone. “How are ya doin’, baby?”

“I’m good, ma’,” he laughs. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not gonna be able to make it this year.”

“Aw nooo!” she cries, “what happened?”

“I’ve just got way too much work to catch up on, and I gotta meet a guy for a job offer next week. Tell Dave I’m not letting him off that easy, though. I’ll be out to visit him later. See how college life is treating him.”

“That’s okay,” you tell him. “You can stay in Texas.”

“Don’t test me, you little shit,” he laughs. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too, baby. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, mom,” and then the line drops.

Roxy saunters back to her seat on the couch, and Rose goes back to her seat as well. The mood in the room feels a little heavy, but then lightens as everyone gets back into the movie.

When it ends, everyone puts their dishes away and heads up to their rooms for bed. John makes it to the bathroom first, so you just strip your jeans off, toss them in the direction of your bag, and fall back on the bed.

John comes out a few minutes later wearing lose, flannel pants and his tee from earlier. You get ready for bed, washing up and brushing your teeth before going back into the room and flopping down on the mattress.

“Hey Dave?” John asks softly a few silent moments later.

“Yeah?”

He hesitates, but then looks up at you through his bangs. His glasses are on the side table between the two beds, and you take a moment to appreciate his face without the frames. “. . . Never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“. . . What’s the deal with Dirk and Roxy?”

You quirk your eyebrow, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

His eyebrows scrunch up as he looks away. He looks back at you when he feels he’s worded what he wanted to say correctly. “Well, I mean. . . your mom is pretty young, and Dirk sounds pretty. . . mature. . .”

You sigh, scratching at your head before resting back. “She um, doesn’t like to talk about it but. . .” you sigh again. “Teen pregnancy,” you mumble quickly.

“. . . Oh.”

“Yeah. . . Her and dad stayed together for a while, but when they split, he took Dirk and I to Texas with him.”

“I thought you only lived with your brother, though?”

You sigh again and wait a moment before responding. “He um, there was a car accident.”

John looks shocked and apologetic once you admit this. “Oh- Dave I- I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“It’s okay, I didn’t really like him too much.” The room seems too quiet, and your voice is only just above a whisper. “But Dirk was only 16. Had to pull some strings but kept us, or at least me, out of the system, but he managed. . . I owe him a lot.”

It’s quiet again, and your fingers nervously twist at your shirt. John shifts, and his arm reaches out, hand just being able to reach your own. He takes it in his grasp, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles as your hands hang in the space between the beds. “I’m sorry, Dave,” he says, and you hope your heart isn’t beating at a volume he can hear. He doesn’t say any more than that.

He wishes you a goodnight with a squeeze of his hand, and pulls it back to him. And your chest definitely doesn’t twinge when he does so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was depressing
> 
> wow i found the full fatboy slim [album](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dins1tqcoAw&playnext=1&list=PLC92D9F8DD2016840&feature=results_main) on youtube!
> 
> expect happy and fun holiday shenanigans in upcoming chapters!


	10. Dave Strider: On Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings Jams with Dave feat. Rose Lalonde and Jade Harley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i usually dont do this but plEASE listen to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gmiSPMHrWQ)  
> song while you read the chapter. its instrumental and i love it so much and its so wonderful i listen to it year round even though its a christmas piece  
> ; v ;

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“There’s a rink just past town,” Rose says from her spot against the counter.

You turn back around from Rose to face Dave again, your hand gripping the granite countertop to keep you steady. “C’mon Dave! It’s just ice skating! Stop being such a loser and come with me!”

His face scrunches up a fraction, but it’s enough of a pout for you to poke fun at it. “Daaaaaave! It’s almost Christmas! Going ice skating is like, Christmas law. And the fact that you don’t-“

“Egbert-“

“-even know how to skate is hilariously perfect and I need to teach you, like, now.” Your grin is wide when you see his cheeks flush the slightest bit. He looks cute flustered. You mean- like a shy child. Little kids are really sweet. Well, the nice ones.

What the hell are you talking about?

“What if I just want to hang back? Maybe chill with Roxy?”

“Oh I’m sure your mom would _love_ to come, _Davey.”_ Your grin turns into a wide smirk, and at the mention of his pet name, Dave groans, his arms sliding out on the counter and hiding his face in the crook.

“Dave stop being such a _child,”_ you whine. “Now we’re all going to get in our respective cars, we are going to drive into town, and we are going to go ice skating. Now get your shoes on, or I will pull you out of this house kicking and screaming.”

He groans, but you know you’ve won. “C’mon Rose, lets get ready.” You turn to her again and hop off the barstool, straightening out your shirt.

You link your arm up with hers and grin at her, she smiles, and you turn to look at Dave. “If you’re not ready by the time we leave I will not hesitate to bring you out in what you’re wearing now.” Neither of you have changed out of your respective PJs yet, and he will be sure to freeze in his day old shirt and boxers.

Of course you’re not _that_ cruel, but Dave knows you're good on your threats. You skip away with Rose, you both laughing, and head up the small staircase by the kitchen. Through the smaller family room you go, and past that, a more empty space with large windows that reveal a beautiful view of the yard, then up a larger flight of stairs to the second floor. You’re still laughing and she’s smiling with you, her eyes crinkling, and you let go of her arm at her door.

You bow dramatically, tipping an invisible hat at her as she brings the back of her hand to her forehead, “You make me swoon, Jonathan.”

You giggle, and her arm comes back down. “I’ll tell Jade to get ready,” she smiles, then heads into her room.

Rose is so cool. Great friend choice.

You skip down a few doors to your shared room and burst in, surprising an unsuspecting Dave who was changing in the middle of the room. He must have taken the main stairway in the living room. His shirt was around his arms, and when the door opened, he brought them up to his chest protectively. He was looking at you now, well, shades pointed in your general direction.

It may just be the lighting, but he looked a little flushed. “My sincerest apologies, sir,” you say, still in character, “how very rude of me to barge in the way I did. Very ungentlemanly of myself if I must say.”

He doesn’t really shift as you make your way past him, but his eyes follow your movements, shades, whatever.

You can’t help but notice the small scars on his torso, arms, and a particularly large one over his right pectoral. Instead of questioning them however, you dig around in your still packed suitcase for some pants and a shirt, and once you have what you need you head into the bathroom, bowing at him before closing the door behind you.

You put your things down on the toilet seat, then wash up at the sink. You never really had much thick body hair, but it still felt nice to shave in the mornings. Once that’s done you wash your face again and brush your teeth. You left your mouthwash out in the room, but you don’t feel like getting it. You can eat a mint later if you feel you need to.

Once you're dressed, you head back out into the room where Dave is pulling on one of his hoodies and a red beanie. His blond hair flips out the side and over his shades. It’s a nice look.

He knows this though, if the way he smirks in the mirror is any indication.

“You’re so lame,” you tell him as you walk past, grabbing your own hoodie as well.

“If by lame you mean flawless, then yes.” You push his shoulder enough to jostle him and he laughs a little, readjusting his shades. “Don’t be hatin’ on the Strider natural charm.”

“Pfft,” you laugh, “if by _charm_ you mean awkward advances and lame raps, then yes.”

“Dick,” he smiles at you as you leave the room, “my raps fuckin’ rule and you know it.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ it.”

“Do I need to demonstrate?”

“No!”

You're both laughing as you hop down the stairs, you bumping your shoulder against his as you round the banister. Jade is on the couch, her jacket on her lap, and she turns around at the commotion. “You both are really cute, oh my gosh.”

You throw your arm around Dave’s shoulders and bring him flush against your side. He does that thing where he gets stiff again, but you ignore it, instead to declare: “The best of friends! Palhonchos!”

You feel Dave’s shoulders sag against your side and Jade giggles at you both before hopping off the couch. She’s dressed modestly. Dark jeans, boots, and socks that peek out over the top. She has a grey sweater on with Nordic styled deer along the front. Like Dave, she’s wearing a beanie as well, but hers is colorful and knitted from wool.

You offhandedly wonder if maybe Rose made it for her.

Speak of the devil, Rose descends the stairs at your thought, her mother hoping down behind her. You like Roxy. She’s pretty cool.

She enjoys riling up Dave just like the rest of you.

Rose gives Dave one of her Looks, and you realize you still have yet to remove your arm from his shoulder. You bring your hand up and ruffle up his bangs before letting your arm fall back down to your side. He grimaces, hands shooting up to try and fix the damage. Your father comes down the stairs not a moment later.

“Alright, kiddies!” Roxy calls as she pulls out everyone’s coats, “let’s get a move on!”

She hands them out one at a time as you all pass her, “Johnny, Davey, Rosie, Mr. Egbert,” and then locks up as you all head out. The girls and your father hop in Rose’s car, and you climb up into the passenger seat in Dave’s truck. He’s already starting up the ignition by the time you get yourself situated.

It takes a few minutes for everyone to back out of the semi-long driveway, but once you do, Dave pulls back to allow Rose to pass and lead the way.

You take the opportunity to admire the foliage. It’s very beautiful up here, and even though everything is covered with snow, it doesn’t hinder your view of the woods surrounding the property and others nearby. Honestly, it gives you an easier access to the large expanse of trees beyond the homes.

The few other homes on the street are modest in size, but constructed beautifully. You can tell a lot of time and money went into the stone work. There’s smoke emanating from the large chimneys, and you smile. A nice fire on a cold winter day just reminds you of home.

You. . . do kind of feel at home. Your father is here, and you're surrounded by people you love. You may not be in Washington, but you don’t feel the need to be.

Everything feels perfect here.

You look over at Dave, who’s got his eyes on the road. The car is silent, but not awkwardly so. Reaching into your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and hook it up to the aux. This catches Dave’s attention, and he gives you a questioning look before turning back to the road.

You have a great love of piano pieces, but your favorites you keep on your phone, just to always have with you. Luckily, one of them is a Christmas tune, and that’s what you go to put on.

The tapping of the drum gives you the image of snowfall, and the slow rhythm lulls you.

“Is this from Charlie Brown?” Dave asks, slight smile on his face as his head turns a fraction of an inch in your direction.

“Shhh,” you say, head falling back against the headrest and closing your eyes, your fingers playing the notes on your leg. “We do not interrupt Vince Guaraldi.”

“No. . . It’s nice,” he smiles, turning back to the road once more.

You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Your eyes part slightly, just enough to watch the white outdoors pass you by.

Everything feels perfect.

All too soon you’ve arrived at the rink. Rinks. They had two that they apparently used for sports, but kept one open to the public for most of the day.

You find it’s colder inside than it was outside, and you pull your coat tightly over you. Dave’s rubbing at his arms. “Christ,” he says under his breath. You smile.

You’re all standing in line to buy your wristbands when Dave leans over to you, “You think I could pass for kids prices?”

You laugh, and both Rose and Jade turn to look at you both. You turn back around to face the counter, stifling your laugh. Dave is snickering beside you. “Seriously though, why is this so expensive?”

“It’s all a part of the _Holiday experience,”_ you say, bringing your hands up and wiggling your fingers for added magical effect.

Before you put your money down for your ticket, Roxy is pushing past you with a “Nope!” and handing your money back to you. “Go get your skates, everyone, I’m handling activities today.”

She pushes your twenty back into your hands. “Um, thanks Mrs. L- Roxy.”

She ruffles at your hair, “Aw, sure thing, Johnny,” then turns back to the counter to buy your wristbands.

Your group awkwardly shuffles past the line of eager children and parents trying to wrangle them, over to the benches by the skate rental. This line is much shorter, and you all get your skates relatively easily. When Roxy returns, your father tries to pay her back, but she’s having none of it.

The Zamboni is still out when you all shuffle over to the rink, but it’s done cleaning the ice after a few minutes. Once the doors open, you're one of the first on the ice. It feels refreshing to glide along the clean surface. Jade is by your side in an instant, and she takes your gloved hand in hers, pulling you across the rink.

The children have started to make their way out onto the ice, some with more practice than others. You see a few little kids with those weird supporters they use to help them along.

When you were young, you and Jade would take turns pushing each other around on them. That is until you got reprimanded by the security.

You still did it anyway.

Jade’s still got your hand in her grip, and she turns around to face you, taking your other hand in hers as well. You’re both smiling as she skates backwards and pulls you along. “So, that Dave, huh?”

You give her a questioning look, then turn to follow her gaze.

Dave is still by the door, Rose and Roxy by his side. His mother is doing a wonderful job at trying to get him to skate with them, as she pulls on his hands in a way very similar to you and Jade.

You can see his pout from here.

Jade catches your smile before you even feel it on your face. “You know, I’m really glad you guys hit it off,” she says, bringing your attention back to her.

“Why?” you laugh.

“I don’t know,” she says, “it’s just. . . You seem. . . I don’t know. A lot more like your old self, I guess?”

“Whaaaat?” you say, and she laughs.

“No, I’m serious! I just mean, you’re a lot like you were before college.”

“You mean the dork I was in high school?”

_“Was?”_

“Shut up! What are you even getting at?”

You see her eyes flick towards the direction Dave was in, then back to you. “I don’t know I just, think you guys are really great, is all.”

You give her a confused look, “Yeah, duh, that’s why we’re best bros.”

“. . . Yeah,” is all she says before she lets go of your hands. They fall back down to your sides as you come to a stop. She skates away from you, and your eyes follow her as she approaches your father.

You look back over to Dave, who was now talking with Rose, still by the door of course. His mother was able to move him a good foot, however.

You skate around the rink, and pop up over Rose’s shoulder. Dave was in the middle of saying something, but stopped as soon as he saw you. “Hey!” you say.

Rose smiles at you, and Dave gives you a curt nod. “Mind if I cut in?” you ask Rose.

“Of course not,” she’s still smiling, and she skates over to Roxy.

“Wow Rose, way to ditch the kid!” Dave calls from his spot against the scuffed up wall.

“Who said I was talking to Rose?” you smile.

“No. I’m not skating. You’re lucky you even got me out of the house this morning, let alone on the ice.”

“Too bad,” you laugh, grabbing his hands and leading him away from the wall. He lets out a string of “Nonononono,” his skates cutting up the ice as he tries to stop. You just giggle.

“Calm down you big baby,” you say, making sure your grip on his hands is tight. He’s trying to wiggle out of your grasp, but you're not having any of it. “Dave, stop squirming! I’m not gonna help you back to the wall if you let go!”

Of course you didn’t really mean that. You wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. But the fact that his grip automatically tightens makes you laugh.

You’re a good five feet from the wall, and the other skaters have made the wise decision to keep clear of you both. The sight must be funny, you presume. Two young male adults haphazardly flailing about on the ice.

“Dude, you need to relax,” you tell him. He’s like a cat before bath time, and honestly it’s hilarious. You try to keep your laughter to yourself. Try being the imperative word here.

“Egbert I swear to Christ,” he says through gritted teeth. It only makes you laugh again. To tease, you loosen your grip a fraction, and he clutches tighter. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

It’s not everyday you see Dave act like this. It’s a nice change. Entertaining. You’re best friends, you’re allowed to tease him the way you do.

“Alright, dude” you say, movements slowing, “I’m gonna teach you how to skate. We’re doing this. We’re making it happen.” You see his eyebrows knit together nervously, and his head is tilted down as he stares at his feet, trying to keep himself steady.

He’s got your hands in a vice grip as he tries to avoid falling ass backwards onto the ice. His stance wobbles in his girly figure skates (the only skates they had left in his size), and his weight is mostly centered on you. He sighs shakily, but refuses to look up at you. “Okay, yeah, whatever. Just do it quick. I can feel my pride crumbling around me.”

You smile at him, though he can’t see it, and ever so slowly begin to skate backwards, pulling him along. You feel like you're teaching a child, and well, you guess you kind of are? Not age wise, but Dave knows just as much about skating as the small children using the supports.

You being used to the calm and collected Dave, who could skitter around obstacles and dodge your pranks so easily, made seeing him so out of his element extremely weird. But, not bad or anything. You’re sure he’ll get the hang of it soon enough and be moving with the same agility he posses on dry land, but right now, he’s relying on you for guidance.

The thought gives you a weird twisting feeling in your chest.

You're moving a little faster now, but still pretty slow for skating standards. “Dude,” you say to grab his attention, “you can’t just keep your skates straight and do nothing while I pull you, you won’t learn anything.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he asks, and his voice is pretty strained. He sounds aggravated, but you know the malice isn’t really directed at you. “Skating is fucking weird. Who would choose to do this for fun.”

“Lots of people, Dave,” you laugh, pulling him closer to you. The sudden movement makes him stiffen, well, more than he already was. “Watch my feet, okay?”

His head seems to be perpetually tilted down, but you know he’s paying attention. “Pizza, french-fry, pizza, french-fry,” you chant at a volume only he can hear, your feet following the motions.

“Oh my fucking God,” Dave whispers as you continue your string of words, but he begins to follow you, feet mirroring your own movements as you slowly make your way around the curve of the rink.

Your hands are getting tired from holding his, and you let go momentarily to move them to his forearms. The sudden loss of your support makes him lean forward and grab at you, and he settles once he has his grip fashioned in a way similar to yours. You find yourself laughing softly, shooshing him. “Relax, dude, it’s okay.”

When you feel he’s starting to get the hang of it, you speed up a little more. You really hope people are watching out for you both, because honestly you’ve stopped paying attention to anything outside your little two foot bubble. It’s just you and Dave. Like a spotlight on a dark stage.

You’ve stopped chanting, but he’s still moving his feet as he skates along with you. You realize that he’s started to say the words himself, or at least mouth them as he moves along the ice. You grin.

A few minutes of this later has Dave standing taller and with more confidence as you skate. He’s still holding onto you of course, but his grip is less firm. He’s more holding onto you for precaution than anything else.

“Dave?” you say softly, and he hums in acknowledgment, “I’m gonna let go now, okay?”

He seems hesitant, but nods slowly. He stiffens when your arms slowly come back to your sides, and his hands grip at your forearms, but he forces himself to let go. His feet stop, but he’s still gliding from his previous movements, his hands hovering in case he needs to latch on again.

“Don’t stop now, man, you had it!”

He goes to move his feet again, slow as it may be, but soon he’s skating on his own. You’re still close to him, hovering in case he falls, but he seems to have it under control. It doesn’t take him long to start moving faster, and though he’s still a little wobbly, he’s doing pretty well!

“Yeah!” you exclaim, fists pumping into the air above your head. Dave smiles as a short breath leaves him.

The excitement is short lived, however, when Dave’s skate gets caught in a nick in the ice. You see the shock and terror flash across his face when he stops short and loses balance.

You were close enough to begin with, but you jolt forward in reflex to catch him. His breath hitches when he latches his arms around your neck, legs giving out and pulling you down slightly. You put your muscles to use though, and wrap your arms around his lower back to pull him up and keep him steady.

You can’t help but laugh as he clings to you. “Wanna get some food?” you ask into his beanie.

“Sounds good,” is his choked reply.

 

 

“Do they even clean these tables?”

You both take a seat at one of the few empty tables still available. The basket of fries in your hand is hot as you set it down, and John puts the ketchup dish by your drinks.

“I doubt it,” he replies, flicking a few crumbs off the side of the table. Grimacing at the low sanitation level, you sit down anyway and take a sip of your warm cider.

“Your ankles okay?” John asks around a fry. “Your legs kinda tangled in that fall, there.”

“Shut up,” you definitely don’t mumble, “I didn’t fall okay? Well, I did, but, it’s not like it was my fault or anything, I was doing fantastic. That fucking ice has it out for me, Egbert.”

He laughs, taking a few fries from the basket and dipping them in the ketchup before nibbling on them. “You gonna want to try again later?”

“No way man, I’m never going back out on the ice ever again.”

“Boo, you ass,” John whines, throwing a small fry in your direction. It bounces off your nose and lands in your lap. You eat it anyway.

You have yet to take off your girly figure skates, and with the added height, your knees bump awkwardly against the underside of the table. Your table is directly under one of the large windows, and it gives you a perfect view of the rink. You can see the rest of your party out on the ice. Rose and Jade were skating side by side, holding conversation, and you could see your mom skating circles around John’s dad.

“I think my mom might have a thing for your dad, dude,” you remark, still looking in their direction.

John follows your gaze and grins. “Oh my God, imagine if they got married?” he laughs, “Dude, we’d be step brothers! How awesome would that be?”

Your chest twists at the realization. No, that would not be awesome. That would not be awesome at all. That would be very unawesome. The farthest thing from awesome would be that situation becoming a thing.

You offhandedly wonder if your crush would then count as incest.

You inwardly groan, and instead choose to stuff your mouth with fries. There you go Dave, eat your feelings.

“So,” John mumbles around a mouthful of salty potatoes, “Anything else you wanna do today?”

You shrug, sipping at your cider again. “I don’t know, man. I don’t really remember there being a lot to do in this town.”

“That’s probably because you never left the house, you fucking recluse. Now c’mon, I’m sure there’s something. Movie theater? Mall?”

“Honestly, I just want to go home.” It comes out a lot more tired than you meant it to, and John’s face falls slightly.

“Okay,” he says, and out of the corner of your eye you see Rose and Jade getting off the rink. “I’ll be right back,” he says, pushing up from his seat, “bathroom.”

“Don’t need to tell me, dude,” you say, and he laughs before parting.

As expected, Rose and Jade find you at the table and take their respective seats, Rose sitting where John was across from you not a minute ago. “I’m not gonna talk about it,” you tell her.

“Oh Dave,” she smirks, chin resting on her elevated hands, “and we were starting to finally get somewhere out on the ice.”

“Yeah, and you’re lucky you got that far. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“What’s happening?” you hear Jade ask from beside you, but you both ignore her inquiry. Or at least you do.

“We were discussing Dave’s romantic inclination towards the fourth party,” she states, eyes still locked on yours.

The fact that she could always find them behind your shades freaked you out.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the gears turning in Jade’s head, and you could pinpoint the exact moment they clicked into place. “Oh my God! John!? I knew it! I knew it I knew it!”

“It is beginning to be fairly obvious, Dave.”

“Yeah, Dave,” Jade chimes in, leaning closer to you. “But John’s super thickheaded, I don’t think he’ll notice. He’s really adamant about your whole broship thing.”

You groan, head falling to rest on your folded arms. “That’s not exactly a positive thing, Jade,” you can hear Rose say, “if he plans on taking this crush and doing something with it.”

You groan again. “Can we not call it that?” comes your muffled voice.

“What do you suppose we call it then, Dave? Mental attraction? Or is it physical-“

“Stop please.”

This conversation took an awkward turn embarrassingly fast, and you can feel your heartbeat accelerate in your chest because _John could be back any second and hear this oh God._

You're not nervous about him finding out about your sexual preferences, oh no. Honestly, you couldn’t care less, which is why you haven’t told him. Why should it matter? You just don’t know how he would react if he found out _who exactly_ you were leaning towards.

You hear Jade giggling beside you, and you can feel Rose’s smirk boring into your skull.

Damn her.

“Aw Dave,” Jade says once she’s calmed herself, “John is a super great guy when he wants to be, and he really adores you, it’s so obvious. I’m sure he wouldn’t be angry with you or anything.”

“I believe Jade is right, dear brother. John was very supportive of my relationship with Kanaya even before we began dating. I know you haven’t known him for as long as we have, but give him a chance, at least.”

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

“That’s up to you.”

It’s silent for a good minute before you speak up again. “Is it really that obvious?”

You peek up from your crossed arms to see Rose genuinely smiling down at you. “Honestly? I don’t think so. I think you’ve gotten more bold as you both have gotten closer, yes, but obvious, not completely. You may want to tone it down a bit, however.”

“I think it’s really cute,” Jade giggles at your side. “You should have seen yourselves on the ice, you looked like a couple.”

Your face gets warm at the accusation.

“Yes Dave, I believe _couple_ is a fitting term,” Rose smirks, “and also the fact that John was the only one who would be able to get you off the wall was obvious to everyone.”

“Stop talking please.”

“Hey guys!”

Your heart stops in your chest at that voice, and you hear Rose scoot over as he comes back over to the table. “Did you have fun skating?”

“Not _nearly_ as much fun as you and David,” is your sister’s reply.

“Ehe, yeah,” he laughs, looking down at you. “He almost had it, though! That pesky ice just got in the way. Dave will prove himself next time.”

“I told you there wouldn’t be a next time.”

“But I’m not taking no for an answer, so.”

“I’ll lock myself in the car.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“You wanna bet?”

“Dave I swear to God, you are going to get your ass back out on that ice or so help me.”

“I ain’t freezin’ my ass off for you. Make it worthwhile.”

“I’ll buy you any Doritos Locos Taco you want and let you beat me in any Left4Dead campaign.”

“Damn,” you sigh. “Can’t beat Doritos Tacos.”

“Doritos _Locos_ Tacos.”

You move up to find John smiling wide at you, and you can’t help but grin.

This boy is going to be the death of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope that wasnt TOO fluffy aha. . .


	11. It's a holiday tradition, Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> e v e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry its been forever since ive updated this but i hope you like this chapter!
> 
> i know where the story is going and i have most of it planned out, and now that school is ending in a few days i'll have a lot more time to write it!
> 
> i just wanted to finally get this out, so i apologize for any errors there may be

“Time flies when you're having fun” is one of the most honest statements you’ve ever heard.

In what only felt like a day, it was Christmas Eve, and you were giddy like a child on. . . well, Christmas Eve.

In the kitchen was where dinner was being prepared. Turkey, ham, potatoes, stuffing, brownies and cookies and so much more were being cooked by a mix of your father, Roxy, and anyone else who would happen to float in and out of the room. The smells wafted throughout the house, and your stomach grumbled with the anticipation of what you knew was going to be a delicious meal.

And that’s totally not because you swiped some of the potatoes earlier.

Colorful lights and garlands were decorated throughout the house. The tree everyone helped decorate sat by the large windows in the living room, the lights and ornaments shown for the neighbors to see. It still smelled of fresh pine, having picked it out two days prior, and you found yourself breathing in the aroma every time you walked past. The presents beneath it varied in colors and sizes. Some were wrapped with the knowledge of how to do so, while others were garishly folded in the bright paper.

A large fire crackled in the stone fireplace, illuminating the row of perfectly placed stockings hanging above. Some were older, and had Rose and Dave written sloppily across the white fuzz in glitter glue. Dave’s was much messier than Rose’s, with an excess of stray, red, glittery globs. You had pretended you didn’t see the sadness flash across Roxy’s face when Dirk’s was the only stocking left in the old box.

There was a large pile of Christmas movies on the coffee table that had been circulating on the television throughout the day. Jack Frost was playing at the moment, and Michael Keaton’s snowman self was teaching his son how to play hockey.

Last but not least, the mistletoe, which was hanging by red ribbons in almost every room. A few teasing kisses had already been shared (like between you and Jade), but they were nothing more than a peck on the cheek.

Dinner was nearing completion, and you heard the commotion in the kitchen as you helped finish setting the table in the dining room. A small entourage entered the room carrying large bowls and plates piled high with steaming vegetables and meats. Your stomach growled at the site, your mouth watering at the smells, and you took your seat as the rest of the table was crowded with food.

Dave slid into the chair across from you, already piling turkey and potatoes onto his plate before his sister had even sat down beside him. He waited to eat, however, until everyone was situated in their seats, pouring drinks and passing plates. Probably because you kicked at his leg when he went to take a bite.

He kicked back a little painfully against your shin. “Ow,” you laughed, reaching down to diffuse the pain.

You were too busy kicking in return that you didn’t notice Rose watching the both of you.

Dinner goes by nicely. Menial conversation is held as people avoid talking around the food in their mouths. Toasts are shared with wines and sodas as you all wish each other a merry Christmas.

You have your seconds and grab some dessert, shoving a gooey chocolate chip cookie in your mouth and attempting to swallowing it down with some milk in one go before getting up to help clean away the dishes. You’re still awkwardly trying to swallow the treat down piece by chocolaty piece as you gather a good number of dishes in your arms and head into the kitchen.

You set your pile in the sink and get to rinsing them of the food remains before setting them in the dishwasher to be properly cleaned. Dave and Rose follow in soon after, rinsing plates and setting them in the dishwasher alongside your own.

After drying off your hands, you wander back out to the table, grabbing some more sweets before heading back out into living room where Jade was setting up another movie. “Which one, guys?”

“Home Alone,” you say as you walk over to the couch, the same moment Dave calls “Scrooged,” from his place on the cushion.

Of course, a debate is held, and in the end neither movie is played. Jade slides in The Polar Express as you two argue(half-heartedly).

“I need to piss,” are Dave’s parting words as he slides from the couch and disappears down the hall, the opening credits starting in his wake.

Once he’s gone, you reach for your small plate of treats, popping another cookie in your mouth as you set the dish on your tummy. The adults come out of the kitchen not much later, and take their respective seats to watch the movie.

Once you're done, you get up from the couch, empty plate in hand as you wander into the kitchen, humming along with the singing kids on the screen. You wash off your little plate in the sink, the dishwasher running beside you, and set it out on a fresh towel to dry.

You're patting your damp hands on your jeans as you walk back out into the living room, and as you pass through the doorway, you collide against Dave as he was returning from the hall. “Ah, sorry,” you apologize, grabbing at his shoulders to help steady yourself, a few streaks left in your wake from the water on your hands as the fabric absorbs the liquid.

As you both move to step away from each other, an “Ahhhh,” calls your attention from the couch.

You both turn simultaneously to find Roxy, eyes squinting and a smile on her face as she looks at the two of you from over her wine glass.

You begin to ask what she was going on about, but cut yourself off when you see Dave, scowl on his face and head tilted toward the ceiling.

You follow his gaze up to find the cliché of the century hanging above your heads. Your pranksters gambit falls five points.

“No,” is all Dave says, frustrated and still looking at the little plant. By now, you’ve gained the attention of most, if not all of the others in the room.

You go to walk out from under it, and Roxy stops you with a “Nu-uh, boys. Toll is one smooch.”

You look back over at Dave as he shoots a glare in his mother’s direction. “Ain’t no one kissin’ anyone.”

“It’s a holiday tradition, Dave,” Rose smiles, her hand petting down Jasper’s back as he sits on her lap.

“Fuck you and your traditions, Rose.”

You find yourself silently laughing. Honestly, you think he’s getting worked up over nothing. What’s a kiss between friends? And it’s not like on the mouth or anything. Doesn’t mean you're gay for each other.

His cheeks are tinged pink and his lips are pursed as he yells back at his family members. You’re not listening to what he’s saying, though, just watching him. His shoulders rise a little as his fists ball tightly at his sides. He’s still turned mostly in your direction, but his pink cheek is open for you to move in on. Your chest feels a little tight at the thought.

“-So there!” he says, finishing a string of lame metaphors you hadn’t heard. You were too busy pushing away your nervous twinge and closing the distance between yourself and your best friend. As your lips brush against his cheek and kiss, he stiffens, and cat calls are heard throughout the room as you pull back steadily.

He looks back at you, silent and lips slightly parted, and after a few long seconds, you just smile back nervously. You hope you didn’t cross any lines.

He’s still silent when you look away, gnawing on your bottom lip anxiously. You don’t wait for a reply, though, and scurry back to your seat on the couch.

Oh shit. Dammit. That was probably really stupid.

 

You think this is what it must feel like when time stops.

You’ve heard the saying all your life, and while you always seemed to have an affinity with time itself, this is entirely new.

All you're aware of right now is the tingling feeling on your cheek that John had left in his wake. That, and the eccentric beating in your chest.

You don’t register much as time moves slowly past you. There’s John, silently and nervously watching you. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and his eyes divert away from your lingering gaze(even though he can’t see it from behind your shades).

The first thing you see when the fog in your head dissipates is the smug grin plastered on Rose’s face.

You grumble to yourself, and avoid her gaze as you head back to your seat. You see John glance at you from the opposite side of the couch, and you tell yourself to ignore the pink tinge on his cheeks, the nervous way his eyebrows knit together, and the few small crumbs on the corner of his mouth from the cookies he ate earlier.

You quickly rub at your warm cheek, and find a few of the same crumbs there as well.

Your heart does that fast beating thing again.

The rest of the night goes by without another incident. Sans the fact that you both were substantially quieter after the little kiss(he fucking kissed you and on the cheek counts at least for you because fuck you like this boy too much for your own good).

When it was time for bed, you were the last to leave the living room. You shut off the remaining lights, and once you flipped the last switch, the only source of illumination left was the small glow of the embers and the lights on the Christmas tree.

You stood by it for a moment, looking at the old ornaments adorning the branches. Your eye catches a homemade one. A few of them, actually; but the one that you found yourself inspecting brings back memories.

It was a photo taken for Christmas cards that was cropped, preserved in a piece of plastic and now hanging from a string.

You were little- five, tops. You remember being gathered in the living room, Santa hat forced on your head as you were plopped on the couch between your siblings. Dirk played with the end of your hat and Rose had tickled at your scuffed up knee when the camera flashed.

The picture was very comical to say the least, and you found yourself smiling at the memory.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It’s Rose, and she stands beside you, leaning against your side when your arm comes up around her. You don’t say anything, enjoying the silence, and she doesn’t press you for a response. “You look like you were about to cry.” You laugh.

“It was your own damn fault,” you tell her, you both referring to the family photo.

The silence comes back after that, and you continue to examine the tree. There’s a few more homemade ornaments. You remember making them in class one day. Yours is pretty sloppy, but you were proud of it at the time. When you had gotten home that day you gave it to your mother and she hugged you and kissed your head before hanging it on the tree.

You look down at the assortment of presents. You see the ones you were giving out scattered about the tree, and once you saw John’s, you felt the nervous twinge return to your chest again.

Rose senses this immediately like she always does. “How are you feeling, Dave?”

“Confused,” comes out of your mouth before you even attempt to stop it.

“Because?” And you know she knows why.

“Why is it so easy for him to get to me?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but decides against it. Instead she asks “Do you want to be more than just friends with him?”

“Yes,” you say, but hesitate. “No. I don’t- I mean- I’d love to have a chance, but what if it ruins what we’ve built? What if he does it for pity?”

“Maybe you should give _him_ a chance,” she says, just like she had back at the ice rink. She kisses you on the cheek before parting goodnight, and then you're left alone in the darkness and quietness of the large room once more. Your only companions are the conflicting emotions swimming in your head and suffocating your heart.


	12. Merry Christmas, John Egbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas day!!

You’re hands are wet as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, steadying both yourself and whoever you’ve latched onto. “Ah, sorry,” you apologize without even thinking.

You look up to find Dave staring down at you from behind dark lenses. You let go of him, you both attempting to step away before a feminine yet slightly slurring voice calls your attention from the recliner.

“Nu-uh, boys. Toll is one smooch.”

This is all eerily familiar to you. The others staring at you from the couch, the music playing on the television, and Dave staring up at the mistletoe with a crease between his brows and a purse on his lips.

The mistletoe.

Your face warms at the memory, and now you’re forced to relive it. Thanks, brain.

So you stand there, waiting for Dave to yell at his mother like he had before. You wait for Rose to make her remark. . . But nothing comes, and instead there’s a silence hanging around the room. Why is this different?

You’re having trouble controlling your movements. What was happening?

Your heart begins to beat quickly in your chest when instead of turning away, Dave looks down at you, crease still between his brows but a new expression on his face. Nervousness? Anxiousness? You wish he wouldn’t wear those damn shades.

Seriously, fuck those shades.

You’re gaping like a fish, you’re sure of it, when he moves toward you. Where was the lame monologue!? Where was the adamant refusal!? Your heart is beating so fast in your chest you’re afraid it’s going to rocket right out of your rib cage. You don’t move, although your head pulls back the slightest as he gets closer, and closer, until he’s just mere inches from you.

Inside you’re nervous and breathing heavily but your body doesn’t seem to feel the same. Instead you wait there as his hand comes up and his fingers ghost over your cheek. A wave of calm and “everything is okay” washes over you when his hand makes contact, thumb by your ear and palm against your neck. You feel hotter than the surface of the sun and you want so badly to nibble on your lip like you always do, but instead you look up at him, and can see the vaguest outline of his eyes through the dark plastic as he looks back at you. You feel your last nerves wash away when you see his eyes flutter shut, and you can’t stop your own from doing the same.

He’s so close and you’re not scared anymore, instead waiting for his next move.

The second his lips brush against your own your mind goes numb.

There’s no catcalls from your group of friends, there’s no more sound from the television. There’s no more anything besides you and Dave and the mistletoe.

You feel. . . you’re not sure exactly. Nothing negative. You’re not angry, or disgusted, or even uncomfortable. However, you may be enjoying it more than you think you should.

He steps closer to you, and you press your chest against his as his free arm wraps around your waist. When your arms come up and wrap around his neck, he gasps into you before you pull him back again.

You wake with a start, breathing heavily as your heart beats eccentrically in your chest.

Immediately, you look to the side to see Dave sleeping in his bed, back facing you with a small rise and fall as he breathes.

Your face feels hot. Too hot. And you look away from his peaceful form with a quick jerk of your head.

What-. . . You shake your head and rise from your bed, making a dash for the bathroom. The light is blinding as you flip it on, and your eyes squint as they attempt to adjust. You turn on the tap, listening to the water as it runs into the sink, lulling you.

The water is like ice as you splash it onto your face, and the low temperature helps to push the burn off your cheeks from. . .

You look up into the mirror, form slightly blurry without your glasses.

Your chest is heaving less than it had been before, but your eyes are wide and the tinge on your cheeks is more red than it normally is.

You splash your face a few more times.

You’re not sure how to feel about this. It was just a dream. A dream about you. And your best bro. . . You know. . . Making out under the mistletoe.

You groan, burying your damp face in your equally damp hands. You feel water droplets from your palm roll down your arms, dripping off your elbows and onto the white tile of the floor.

It was nothing. It was obviously nothing. It was just a mix of movies and. . . how you kissed him under the mistletoe.

It’s time to be honest with yourself. You were extremely nervous when the whole thing was over. Wouldn’t anyone? When the one you kissed seemed distant and angry with you?

Ugh, _kissed_.

It was stupid. You were stupid and wrong and should have at least played it off. A friendly punch on the shoulder. A laugh. But you didn’t, you were nervous and he was. . .

Him.

Hiding like he always does behind those stupid shades of his and _why does he continue to wear them all the time!_

You attempt to calm yourself, taking deep, slow breaths. The air makes an almost whistling sound as it escapes through the small parts in your fingers, and it’s strangely relaxing. As your breath becomes less labored you remove your clammy hands from your face and grab a small towel from the side of the sink, patting your cheeks down and drying off your fingers.

When you’re finished, you turn to the mirror again, hands gripping the white porcelain of the sink in front of you. Your form is blurry as you stare at yourself, but you can tell you have a major case of bed head. Your shirt is wrinkled and you have some water droplets soaking around the neck of your shirt. The pink on your cheeks is no longer flaring and your chest rises and falls with calm breaths.

Damn.

Your fingers tap a few times against the cool porcelain before you let go and return to the bedroom. You walk straight over to your bed, pointedly avoiding Dave as you pass him. You recline back against your pillows and rumpled bed sheets, rest your hands on your stomach, and sigh.

You don’t think. Or at least try not to. Instead you lay there, in the quiet of the dark room, and keep to yourself. A quick glance at the clock on the side table tells you the sun should begin to rise in an hour or so. The thought gives you butterflies. It was Christmas morning.

You can’t even attempt to keep down the smile on your lips.

Your eyes droop closed soon after, and you wake up again when the light of the rising sun is finding its way into the room through the branches of the snow-covered trees. You blink the sleep away, rubbing at your eyes as you sit up.

Feet settling on the floor, you face Dave. His back is still facing you, and he’s curled around one of his pillows. The feather sack in question is clutched tightly between his hands and there is a small spot on the pillow from what you suppose is drool.

You laugh quietly. You don’t care how much he protests it, he can be a bigger dork than you at times.

You mean all the time. You’re no dork.

You are however, a pranking master. The smile on your face turns mischievous as you rise from the mattress, creeping over to Dave’s sleeping form. He’s peacefully asleep when you look over him, his blond lashes resting against his freckle-dusted cheeks and mouth slightly parted. You don’t even register the softness of your gaze as you examine him.

Mostly because you’re too busy ripping his blanket off of his back, yelling “Merry Christmas!” as he jolts from his slumber.

“Jesus fuck!”

You laugh, tossing the blanket in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. “Wake up, loser! It’s Christmas morning!” You shake him a couple time before skipping out of the room, giggling.

You don’t care how old you are, you will always be excited on Christmas.

You hop down the stairs, but instead of making a break for the tree, you sprint into the kitchen, where your father is drinking a freshly brewed cup of coffee as he makes breakfast.

“Morning, dad!” you greet, stopping at his side.

He laughs in that gruff, fatherly way of his, patting at the top of your head. “Good morning, John. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. What are you making?”

He turns back to the pans, setting his mug down in exchange for a batter mix. “Oh you know, a little of everything. I hope Roxy doesn’t mind me using her kitchen while she sleeps.”

“Dad,” you laugh, “with your cooking, I don’t think it would matter if you broke into the Buckingham Palace.”

He laughs. “Well, thank you, John. That is very reassuring. Now, can you get me a few more eggs out of the fridge? I seem to have miscalculated.”

“Sure thing, dad,” you tell him, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a few eggs out of their container. You carefully bring them back over to your father, keeping in mind the many times an egg has fallen from your grasp and met its untimely end on the tile. “Need help with anything?”

“I’m doing just fine,” he reassures you, “but if you could set up the table that would be of much help.”

“Alright.” You grab a pile of plates from one of the upper cabinets, carefully balancing them in your hands as you walk into the dinning room. You almost have a heart attack when you set the plates onto the long table, the pile slanting too much to the side to be safe.

As you finish setting up the table, your friends come down one by one. First it’s Rose, who walks into the kitchen wearing her pajamas and a soft purple robe. The slippers on her feet keep her already quiet steps silent. Next is Jade, who pummels down the stairs with as much energy as you had, and she wraps her arms around you from the back, wishing you a merry Christmas.

Roxy and Dave walk down the stairs together, Dave rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and his mother yawning beside him. You and Jade run up to meet them, ushering them into the dinning room where the freshly cooked meal was being served.

You and Dave grab your seats by the end of the table, and Roxy seats herself at the opposite head of your father. There’s large plates of pancakes, waffles and French toast, as well as sides like bacon, sausage and hash browns. There’s bowls of fresh fruit already at each dish.

“I feel like Martha Stewart broke into my house and made me breakfast, damn.”

You laugh, elbowing Dave’s side. “Wait until you actually taste it, I mean oh my god if you thought my cooking was good.”

He’s already shoveling pancakes and French toast onto his plate before you even finish your sentence, drowning them in syrup and adding sliced strawberries and bananas for good measure.

Breakfast goes on like this for the next hour. You have already been exposed to your fathers cooking, so you watch and smile as your friends(especially it seems Dave and Jade) pile pancake after waffle onto their plate, nibbling on meats and fruits until they’ve stuffed themselves. Dave slumps in his chair, groaning as he clutches at his stomach. He pokes at it. “Damn, Mr. Egbert, I’ve gotta give you props for that.”

He groans again, and your father stands from his chair, picking up the surrounding empty plates. “Well, thank you, Dave. I’m just glad you all have seemed to enjoy it.”

You all voice your words of thanks for the wonderful breakfast, and help carry the dishes back into the kitchen to be cleaned.

“C’mon, Dave,” you smile, grabbing his arm and pulling him out into the living room. Rose and Jade are already by the tree. Jade resting on the balls of her feet as she examines whose gift is whose. Rose stands by her side, and smiles as you run over, Dave in tow.

“Presents, presents, presents,” Jade is chanting as she worms her way farther into the pile, grabbing a few and setting them out for easier reach. “John, start handing yours out.”

You let go of Dave’s arm, as you had still been holding it as you both stood there, and crouched down to examine which gift belonged to who. The first one you pick up is wrapped in blue(like the others from you) and says “To Rose,” in your attempt at neat, cursive writing. You smile as you turn to her, handing her the small box, and she takes it into her hands, smiling in return.

“Thank you, John,” she says, carefully peeling back the wrapping to expose a taped box, which she’s able to open without much damage. She peeks inside and her smile grows. “Oh, John, I love them.” She pulls out the two shiny, purple knitting needles and holds them in her free hand.

“Look,” you smile, stepping closer to point out the engraving, which was her name in delicate cursive. “There’s also some yarn in the box, too.”

She hugs you to the best of her abilities, and thanks you again, before carefully setting them back in the box, and puts it down on the coffee table.

You turn to find Dave and Jade on the couch, and she’s smiling as he holds a large bottle of apple juice in his hands. “There’s this orchard that makes their own juice!” you can hear her say. Dave continues to turn the jug over in his hands. It doesn’t even have an official label.

You hear Dave thank her, and her knuckles rub against his scalp before she hops up and runs over to you and Rose. “Gifts, gifts, gifts!” She crouches down and picks up two boxes, shoving them into your respective hands.

You smile as you peel off the green paper, which reveals a kit filled with smoke pellets and other useful pranking supplies. You laugh, “Thank you, Jade. How did you know I was running low?”

“Because you haven’t been using any of your cool tricks, lately!” She smiles and hugs you as you thank her.

Rose holds in her hands a thick book, which you find, as she flips through the pages, is blank. “I know you write a lot, and your old journal was getting really full, so I hope this works!”

They finish up their thanks as you bend down and pick up both Jade and Dave’s gifts in your arms. Jade rips the paper off of hers and finds new strings for her guitar and an old squiddle plush. “Ah, John!” she laughs, pulling you in for a hug. You try your best to keep Dave’s gift out of harms way. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Ahah, you’re welcome, Jade.”

“One second, John,” Rose stops you before you can walk over to Dave, who is still alone on the couch. You hesitate, but turn back to Rose, smile on your face. She hands you your gift, which is plush in it’s wrapping instead of hidden in a box, and you curiously open it. You laugh as you pull it out, setting Dave’s gift on the carpet.

You pull the knitted sweater over your head, which is blue with a swirling pattern of a brighter blue along the front. Jade’s is green, with a swirling pattern of her own in the center, knitted in white.

You see Dave’s set aside, for when he decides to finally join the group.

You don’t wait, however, and instead pick Dave’s gift up off the floor and walk over to him.

You fall back onto the cushion next to him with a smile, hitting his knee with your own. “Hey, loner. Merry Christmas.” You hand him his gift, which is sort of large, but pretty thin, and he flips it around in his hands a few times. “Well it’s not going to open itself, now is it?”

He peels back the paper carefully, to which you voice, “We’re not going to save the paper, Dave! Now open it!”

“Pushy, are we?” he laughs.

You’re eager as the last of the blue wrapping falls away, and he flips the gift over to look at the front.

Gifts.

“Oh my god,” he says, smile gone from his face. Yours only grows larger.

He flips through the pile of records, flipping them each over in his hands to examine them.

“John, holy shit- is this? How did you get this?” is what he says as he gets to the last one. “Clear vinyl,” he near whispers, fingers ghosting over the cover of the album. The White Album.

“I hope you don’t mind that I snuck through your playlists.”

“Do I mind? Fuck, I don’t mind! How the fuck did you get this!?”

You shrug, “I have my connections. You should see all the memorabilia I have at home,” you laugh.

The smile on his face is soft, but it falls. “. . . John,” he says sadly, “. . . I can’t accept this.”

“What!? No, c’mon. I’m not taking it back and you are going to keep it and cherish it like your own child, do you understand?”

His laugh is breathless, and it takes him a few long moments to respond, but he finally nods. “Yeah. Jesus, I can’t believe you,” he whispers.

“Yes I know I am a saint and you love me.”

He flips through the rest of the small stack. The other bands weren’t too famous, and he was shocked when he pulled out some underground band. “How did you know?”

“I saw it on one of your lame shirts.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, hitting your shoulder with his own.

It’s silent for a minute, save the girls by the tree and the dishes in the kitchen. You stay silent, watching him as he holds the White Album in his hands carefully, like he’ll damage it if he’s not too careful. He sighs, putting it on the stack of his other albums which rest on the coffee table beside Rose’s gift from you. He turns away from you, and comes back holding a small red gift.

“It’s, uh, not as great as yours, but. . .” and he places it in your hands. You continue to smile at him, then turn to the package. It’s small, well, smaller than average, and wrapped in shiny red paper. You open it, and find yourself staring at the back of a picture frame when you place the paper onto the cushion beside you.

Your jaw slacks slightly when you turn is over, revealing a picture of yourself. It’s dark, nighttime, and the moon is paling your face as you smile, eyes closed and head tilted back. There’s a couple of fireflies caught in the frame, and wow, the angle is stunning.

You turn to look at Dave, who’s playing with the fabric of his shirt instead of meeting your gaze. “Dave,” you say, turning back to the frame.

“I developed it myself,” he says, albeit a bit quickly. “It’s um, from-“

“The park,” you finish, a soft smile on your lips as you examine the photo again.

“I hope it’s not weird or anything, I mean, I was just taking shots and then I took yours. I thought it might’ve been weird after ‘cuz like, we didn’t really know each other at the time so I didn’t want to be all “hey I’m gonna take your photo like a creeper,” but I’m not I assure you. It was just a good shot and honestly I hardly even registered snapping the-“

“Dave,” you laugh, “Shut up. I love it.”

You go in for an awkward side hug, even though your mind is once again screaming about that dream kiss. You push it away, though. Bro hugs are more important.

The parents come out of the kitchen not much later, and Dave finally gets up from the couch when you pull him over to the tree by his arm again. He opens up Rose’s gift and pulls it on over his head, mussing up his hair and shades. It’s pink with what appears to be lighter pink butt puppets lining the front. Dave then gives Rose her own present. Wizard pornography novels.

They laugh and hug, and Dave responds to your questioning look, “Joke gifts are a family tradition.”

“Dirk usually beats us, however,” Rose adds.

Once the final presents are distributed, you all get comfortable on the couches, settling in for a movie. A Christmas Story was tradition to watch on Christmas morning.

The four of you huddle onto the larger couch, Jade on your right and Dave on your left, who was sitting next to Rose. You’re all pressed close as the movie begins. You up alongside Dave’s arm and Jade cuddling against your side.

You really do love Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you dont like the beatles even a little bit dont talk to me


	13. Things start to get weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dave are finally returning from their vacation at the Lalonde household, and John is starting to realize that he may not be having the most acceptable thoughts about his best bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow motivation came out of nowhere and suddenly here is the next chapter
> 
> more trolls will be introduced formally soon!! so get ready for that!

The next few days went by without hassle. You had all gone out to a really nice restaurant the night before New Years and gorged yourselves on perfectly cooked fillets. There was not one scrap of food left on any plate in the house.

New Years Eve was spent a lot like Christmas, except you had to shake Dave awake every once in a while as the hours got closer to midnight. He was leaning on you throughout the night, and your weird kissing dream was mostly gone from your mind. And by “mostly” you mean not in the slightest. You shoved it away when you could, but Dave liked to hang close, and close meant the dream never fully subsided.

The countdown was fun, exciting. It was a new year! You didn’t make a new years resolution, however, because you’ve never actually fulfilled one in your life.

A few days later, after countless hugs and goodbyes, your father had left in a similar yellow cab like the one he arrived in. You and Dave left not much longer after that, with assaults from Roxy of “I better see you again soon!” aimed toward the both of you. She hugged you goodbye, and you hugged her back because you know what? Roxy is really cool and you are positive you are going to miss her.

She hugged Dave for much longer than she had hugged you, stroking at the back of his head and holding him close. He hugged her in return, one hand massaging her back as she clung to him.

You waited out in the car, letting them have their moment.

Dave’s face was slightly puffy and pink when he climbed up into the drivers seat a few minutes later, but you didn’t say anything, just waved back to Roxy as she stood by the front door.

So here you are. A good seven hours away from home. Well, college, but you get the idea. Neither of you talk as Dave drives down the highway, one of his playlists softly droning on in the background. The weather had cleared up, and the sky was a crisp blue that was nearly devoid of clouds. The sound of the heater running and the sight of the snow on the ground had reminded you that it was not as warm out as it might have seemed.

Dave is the first to speak, and it’s nothing more than a “Hey, you hungry?”

You had been eyeing the food billboards for a while now, and you agree with him when he exits the highway, pulling into a Wendy’s. The drive-through line is longer than you were expecting, and your stomach grumbles when you smell the fries from inside.

You both get pretty massive burgers and a side of large fries. Dave tries to make you order a large soda so you two can share it. Because it’s ironic, he says. Because it’s funny, he says. Because I’m paying for it, he says.

You sigh at him and order your small soda anyway, smiling at how grumpy he looks. You flick at his nose as you lean over to grab your food, and he sticks his tongue out in lame retaliation.

“You suck,” he says.

“Dork.”

You would never tell him the real reason you didn’t want to share the cup was because you were nervous. Nervous because you still remember the feeling of his dream lips pressed against your own.

He pulls into one of the empty parking spaces and pulls his burger out of the bag, unwrapping it slowly and inhaling the aroma. You watch his over exaggerated movements, your mouth stuffed full with your own food. A piece of shredded lettuce slips out between your lips and onto your lap, and you eat it off of your finger, sucking off the burger juice as well before taking another bite.

Dave sighs around his first mouthful of french-fries, relaxing in his seat as he chews. You follow his lead, putting down your burger in exchange for your own order of fries, chewing on them slowly, savoring them.

Dave nearly moans when he takes another bite of his burger, and the sound startles you, heart jumping in your already anxious chest. He’s definitely fucking you. You mean fucking with you. Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck was that? You mentally add on a plethora of question marks and exclamation points because what even?(?!?)

But then he looks at you, and you are positive you look as flustered as you feel. He brings his index finger up to his mouth and languidly licks it clean of the salt residue. You see his eyebrows wiggle slightly over the tops of his shades, and you throw a fry at him. He just laughs.

You hurriedly finish your burger, pointedly ignoring him. You’re grateful he didn’t make those sounds anymore.

Not soon enough, you’re pulling out of the parking lot, throwing away your garbage in one of the many trash bins.

Things are once again silent as you two begin driving down the highway again. You don’t even realize the semi-nervous tapping of your fingers against the armrest until Dave turns the music up over the obnoxious sound. You apologize, bringing your hand to your lap instead.

You recline the seat enough for you to get comfortable, attempting sleep. You are never able to fall under, however, due to reemerging thoughts of That Dream. So instead you lay there, curled up under your blanket and your head resting comfortably in your soft pillow, staring out the window.

You don’t understand why you are suddenly so nervous. It’s not like anything has changed between the either of you. Really, everything is exactly the way it used to be, even the slightly suggestive mocking. You’re curious and also apprehensive about why this has seemed to suddenly change for you.

You sneak a glance at Dave. You doubt he feels any different. Why should he? He didn’t figuratively get his mack on with his best bro.

You grumble internally and turn away again, squeezing your eyes shut as you clutch at your blanket. You sigh. You really do not want to be having these thoughts right now. You’re not even 100% sure what to make of them.

Though he may be obnoxious, anyone with eyes can tell you that the one and only Dave Strider is honestly very attractive. Not that you aren’t dashing, yourself, but with a switch Dave can turn from dorky best friend to charming southern gentleman. You’ve only seen it in action a couple of times, when you had gone to the movies and he started talking to these two girls as you bought snacks. You ran over to them, large popcorn, soda and candy in hand at the sound of flirty giggles, and you had pulled him away with the excuse of a starting movie.

Because John Egbert was not jealous.

Especially not of two random girls at the movie theater.

You try not to think about it.

Every once in a while, you and Dave hold menial conversation about topics you won’t remember tomorrow. His words hang around you like a haze, the near monotony of them lulling you closer to sleep, until syllables are no longer formed and you  are engulfed in darkness.

You wake up what only feels like minutes later to the darkness of the nighttime sky. “It’s awake,” you hear Dave say, and you stretch, turning over to face him.

The car is stalled at a stop light, and he’s looking down at you, smirk(smile) on his lips. You smile sleepily back, blanket up to your chin.

“We’ll be at Karkat’s place in a bit,” he says. “Hopefully Casey didn’t die in his care.”

You pout at him. “Don’t make me think sad things while I’m still sleepy, you butt.” You sit up, blanket falling to your lap as you rub at your eyes. The light changes to green, and Dave drives again down the street. There are more cars out now, and the store lights are on. You watch groups of people walk down the sidewalk together, entering ice cream parlors and the movie theater. Only about ten more minutes until you reach the dorms.

You hop out of the truck when Dave pulls up to the curb and you sigh, your legs slightly wobbly as they stretch themselves out. You rub away the soreness as best as you can as Dave walks up beside you, his own movements slow and awkward. You nod at him when you’re ready to walk, and you both make your way to the entrance of the large building.

There weren’t too many people wandering around. Spare the muscular sweaty kid, who slid past you quietly and into his dorm, it was pretty quiet. “Karkat’s dorm is on the third floor,” you tell Dave as you reach the stairs, and you hop up the steps with ease.

The door is unlocked when you go to open it, and you step inside, almost tripping over a few stray wires. It’s not like you weren’t used to it however, after being at Dave’s apartment so often. Dave doesn’t even miss a beat as he steps in after you, making a beeline for the closest bed and flopping down on it, heaving a tired sigh.

You see Casey’s tank sitting under the window, and you run over to her, flicking the back of Sollux’s head as you do so. He grumbles his complaints, pausing his game and sliding off his headphones. “Asthole.”

You’re too busy cooing at Casey to notice or care. “Sollux, Dave. Dave, Sollux,” is all you say to introduce the two. You hear a few muffed “’Sups,” and that’s about it.

“Where’s cranky?” Dave asks.

“I think he went to get sthome sthit from the thtore,” you hear Sollux reply, the tapping of his fingers against his keyboard as he gets back to his game filling the room once again.

“Sollux, I thought I told you to- Get off my bed.”

“I refuse,” you hear Dave sigh, most likely snuggling into the soft pillows.

“It wasn’t a request.” You hear a ‘fwump’ and sounds of pained distress emanating from behind you, but you don’t care to turn around. Instead you continue to pet Casey, and she happily nuzzles into your palm before you go to pick her up. She happily complies, and you lift her easily, her grabbing onto your thumb and popping spit bubbles at you. You try your best to make your own, but they fall short, and instead drip down the corner of your lip slightly.

You chose this moment to finally turn around, and you wipe the spit from your mouth with the corner of your sleeve as you face your group of friends. “Put that thing back in its cage! You do NOT know how long it took to catch it when it got out.”

You do the opposite, and instead walk over to his bed, lying down next to Dave. Propping the little yellow salamander on your chest, you watch Dave’s reaction as Karkat fumes in the background. Instead of yelling at you both, because it’s not like it’s ever worked in the past, he goes over to the computer to bug Sollux instead.

You pet Casey with the tip of your finger as she continues to sit on your chest, watching Dave. The blond in question is staring back as well, as he lays on his side, gazing into her little blue eyes. Her head twitches to the side in interest, and Dave makes a few clicks at her. She seems to accept of this and blows a few little bubbles at him, then wobbles down your arm to the bed where she stops at his abdomen. Her little hands grab at his shirt as she tries to raise herself, but fails. Dave is smiling the whole time at her, and finally he shifts his arm so he can rub at her head. She appreciates this, and her eyes close as her head bobs with his movements.

“She’s accepted you, dude. Welcome to the family,” you laugh lightly.

He doesn’t respond, just continues to smile down at your little salamander as she nuzzles into his palm.

“As much as I love watching you two act the like gay couple you undoubtedly are, I want my bed back.”

You feel your face flush at Karkat’s words, but chose to ignore him, instead sitting up and yawning. You look down at Dave and Casey once more before standing and making your way over to her cage. You slide it out enough for you to grab it from the bottom and heave it into your arms. “Dave, get Casey,” you tell him, and he picks her up easily into his hands, then brings her over to you, depositing her carefully back into her tank.

“Thanks for watching her, Karkat!” you say when you reach the door, turning to face him.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it out of the kindness of my heart,” he says. “You told me forty bucks.”

“Yes, and I just don’t seem to have that many deer on hand, Karkat.” You laugh at your own lame joke. Mostly at the way Karkat fumes. “Okay, okay,” you relent, maneuvering the tank so it’s resting against your leg and pressing between your stomach and the doorframe. You reach into your back pocket and retrieve two twenties from your wallet. He snatches them from your hand before you can get another word out, and you hear Sollux say goodbye to you both before the door is closed in your face.

You’re both exhausted when you park in the private lot to your apartment building, and agree that you’ll grab your suitcases in the morning. Dave does however help you bring Casey’s tank back up to your apartment, clearing obstacles for you as you make your way back into your bedroom.

You heave a sigh when the heavy weight is gone from your hands and fall back onto your bed. Dave sits down next to you, and you feel the mattress shift under his weight. Things stay like this for a while. Quiet, save the sounds of the cars passing by on the street below. Your eyes close, and you breathe deeply then exhale slowly. Dave still sits by you.

You feel it immediately when he goes to stand, but your hand reaches out and grabs at the back of his jacket before his ass can even leave the bed. You open your eyes to see him looking over his shoulder at you, but you see no expression in his features. “Stay?”

He looks at you for a while longer, then sighs, leaning back onto the mattress beside you. “Only because I’m too tired to walk to my own apartment,” he says. Like a whisper.

Your eyes close once again and you shift slightly, getting comfortable as you sigh.

You’re still clutching the warm fabric of his jacket in your hand as you begin to pass out, and distantly, you realize you enjoy the feel of it grasped between your fingers.


	14. Don't let Dave near cooking supplies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John never did actually say “No” to the date remark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is surprising isnt it

When you wake the next morning, you’re warm and comfy underneath your thick comforter. Sighing, you turn toward the window, where the winter sun is barely shining in through the glass. You smile as the small rays dance through the slightly lowered blinds, creating a dull stripe pattern on your bed. Casey’s tank sits in the shade, and you can barely make out her little body as she lays in her small rocky cave. Your reflection shines back at you in the glass of the tank, the light hitting it just so.

The sound of movement from the living room is what wakes you up fully, and you are alert and ready to strife if need be. But you relax, remembering that Dave had stayed the night. In your room. In your bed. After you told him to stay.

You feel nervous again.

Since you were startled out of your slumber, you no longer feel the need to lay uselessly in your bed. So you slide out from under the covers with a sigh, and realize that you were no longer wearing your jacket. You see it hanging over the back of your desk chair. Dave must have taken it off of you before. . . He put you under the blankets, you guess. You smile slightly at the thought.

Casey starts to skitter around her tank when she realizes you’re awake, and you go over to her, opening the lid and picking her up with ease. She runs across your palms as you make a continuous path for her, until finally she stops and attempts to crawl down your arm. You laugh as she gets to the crook of your elbow, attempting to climb up, but the incline is too steep, and she only gets about halfway before she looks at you. Pleading. You giggle, and take her back into your hands as you walk out of your bedroom.

The sounds you heard turn out to be pans on the stovetop, and Dave is standing in front of them, a spatula clutched in his hand. You see a wide array of cooking supplies set out across the counter, including things would he probably wouldn’t even need. Like the blender, for instance. “Oh how the tables have turned.” Dave turns to face you as you walk over to him, left hand holding the handle of the pan tightly in his grasp. “I thought you couldn’t cook?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” he says, turning back to his slightly questionable meal as you sit at the counter. You laugh silently as he scrapes at the pan with his spatula, attempting to flip whatever the hell he thinks he’s making. The bottom is pretty dark, and you hear a small grumble emanate from his chest as he gets the rest of it onto the spatula, flipping it over. The pan sizzles when he does.

This is entertaining.

Much later has Dave flopping the last piece of what you assume are pancakes onto a small stack. He sets them out in front of you, his lips twisted slightly, and grabs two forks from the utensil drawer. Casey runs out of your hand and onto the counter when you go to grab the fork, and she immediately greets Dave, crawling over the back of his free hand and blowing a few bubbles.

“Wow, you’re stealing my child.”

“Not my fault she’s obviously starting to realize who is the better of the two.”

“You are such an ass.”

“Tell it to Casey,” he says, allowing her to climb up his arm and sit on his shoulder. He smiles at you triumphantly.

Grumbling halfheartedly, you stab your fork into the pile of supposed pancakes, ripping out a chunk and taking a bite. You try to hide the way your face contorts, but your stomach is screaming at you, begging, “Please, John! Don’t let that near me!” You apologize to your organ, before forcing yourself to swallow the partially uncooked, sticky mess.

You look up at Dave, who’s frowning at you openly. You choke on a laugh, and bring the back of your hand up to your mouth, trying to stifle yourself. “I’m sorry Dave, but,” giggle snort, “this is really shitty.”

You are no longer able to contain your laughter as his frown turns pouty, his hands clutching his fork tightly between their grasp. “Fuck you, Egbert! It’s not like you have any food in this place, anyway!” He drops the fork harshly on the counter, and you coo at him, reaching out to pat his arm. He flinches away slightly, but not enough for your hand to leave him.

“Heeyy,” you singsong like you’re addressing a small child or animal, “little Daaave.” He’s not looking at you, instead staring at Casey as she drapes herself over his shoulder. “You tried,” you continue, still laughing somewhat. You bite on your lips to keep them from showing your entertainment at his expense, and instead pat at his forearm.

“C’mon, let’s go get breakfast.”

 

Dave is reluctant, but you two grab your coats and head out of the apartment after a lot of hard scrubbing and cleaning at the dishes. You had patted his back as you two stood at the sink, washing away the last of the sort of food. Dave had tried a bite, and almost blanched himself. You laughed.

There wasn’t much wind today, and the older snow was melting under the presence of the sun, shining down with ease in a bright, blue sky. It was around ten, and people walked harshly past you, talking loudly into their smart phones. You and Dave walked close together, shoulders bumping every now and then as you evaded oblivious people walking in the other direction.

The chime of the bell above the door when you walk in gives you a pleasant feeling, and you smile at Feferi, who is once again at the hostess station. “Morning, guys!” She greets, pulling out two menus from below the little counter. “How was your Christmas?”

You both follow her to an empty booth by one of the front windows, and you tell her about all the fun you had. She stays with you by your table for a moment, hearing the end of your story before having to get back to her station. A few minutes later, a short brunette skips up to your table, readjusting her blue beanie before asking what you would like to drink. You both agree on a simple order of coffee, and she comes back with the pot a few minutes later, filling your mugs generously before leaving to give you more time to decide.

Not really being in the mood for pancakes anymore, you decide on a bacon and egg sandwich, and Dave orders waffles when the peppy little waitress comes back, check pad in hand. “Are girls the only ones who work here?” Dave asks after you wave to Vriska from across the room.

“Some guy named Eridan used to work here. Not sure what happened to him, though.” You remember Feferi telling you about it once. Something about how it wasn’t even really his fault, but an accident happened in the kitchen. That’s really all you knew. You weren’t a friend of the guy; maybe spoke to him once, but nothing more than that.

Your food comes a little bit later, and you eagerly take your first bite, your stomach thanking you for the edible meal. Dave quickly begins picking at his waffles. Thick and warm, topped with fruits and whipped cream; he douses the entire plate in syrup. You steal of one his two small sausages from his plate before he can stop you, and you smile at him as you chew on the end, munching happily. He retaliates by stealing one of your bacon slices.

“Anything you wanna do today?” you ask him, swallowing down a bite of bread and egg with your coffee. “Movie, maybe?”

“You askin’ me out, Egbert?” Dave laughs, the response trite like it was the last time he said it.

However, you realize that it takes you longer than it should to say no. The hesitation only lasts a few seconds longer than usual, but to you those seconds feel like hours. He laughs, licking the whipped cream from his knife. “Yeah, we can see a movie.”

“Heeey, John,” Vriska draws out as she slides up next to the table, one hand on her hip and the other resting against the back of your booth, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she leans toward you. You’ve learned to not be so intimidated by her.

“Hey, Vris! You’ve met Dave, right?”

She ignores this though, sending a small wave in his direction as she continues to look at you. “Gotta ask you something,” she says, and you look up at her expectantly. Dave’s glare is eminent through the lenses of his shades. “You want a job?”

“A job?” The question catches you off guard.

“Yes, a job. You know, where you do shit and get money for it.”

“Oh, uh-“

“Because the place is hiring and you should totally apply.”

You hesitate. “. . . Here?”

She sighs exasperatedly. “No, John. At the bar down the street.”

You look down at you empty plate. “Oh, um. I don’t know, Vriska.”

“Oh my God, John. You practically _live_ here!” She sighs, both hands on her hips now as she shifts to the side. “Besides, then we could totally hang out more often because I never see you anymore.” You catch her eyes as they quickly shift over to Dave, who’s glaring at her.

The extra money sounds nice. Your Dad is already paying for college, you should at least put food on the table for yourself. “I’ll think about, Vris.”

“Well, think quickly, because lots of kids come in looking for a job like the one that’s open.” She drops off the check and takes your empty plates, then leaves with a swish of her hips.

“John, you don’t need the job,” Dave tells you, throwing down enough money to pay for the both of your orders and tip. You go to respond, but instead he grabs your hand and pulls you out of café, little bell dinging in your wake. You know you should be questioning his tone, but you can’t seem to focus on anything past the feeling of Dave’s hand clutching tightly at your own.

“I don’t know, Dave,” you say once you both slow your paces, walking side by side. “The extra money would be really nice. I already feel bad enough that my Dad is paying for my tuition.”

“Egbert, if you really want extra money so bad I could give it to you. My Bro has enough money to send the both of us to college easily.”

“Like that wouldn’t make me feel worse! At least I know my Dad! I’ve never even met Dirk!” You rip your hand from his grasp and shove them both into your pockets. “Why do you care anyway, if I want the job or not?”

He silent for a moment, and then his only reply is, “You should just focus on your class work. You don’t need the added stress of a job.”

Fortunately, the heavy air hanging around the both of you was gone by the time you reached the theater. You were a few minutes early to a showing of Mama, so you bought your tickets and walked up to the concession stand to by a small popcorn. You are aware of the fact that you just ate breakfast, but a movie just isn’t complete without movie theater popcorn.

The theater was somewhat full, and you and Dave make your way to the back where the better seats were. You watch the screen until you find the two center seats, then plop down, hand already in the popcorn bag. “You’re dropping it, asshole,” Dave tells you, catching a few popped kernels as your hand pushes them over the top. A few more fall to the dirty floor beneath your feet. Taps plays softly in the distance.

You hear more than see a group of younger teenagers enter the theater and sit near the front. “How did they get in?” you whisper to Dave, nodding to the loud group.

“Dude, this movie is PG-13.”

“What? You lie.”

He laughs around another handful of popcorn, and you set it aside before the both of you finish it before the movie even starts. “Sorry to break it to ya, Egbert, but there wasn’t enough sex for the MPAA to rate it R.”

You gawk slightly at his words, turning to the dark screen in front of you. “But- the trailers they. . . They were so freaky.”

“Like I said, bro. America only cares about sex and nudity.”

“I should be a movie critic,” you say, pouting.

Dave reaches over you to try and reach the popcorn, but you bat his hand away. “I’m surprised you aren’t. You love movies enough.”

“Yeah, it’s just-. . . my dad says “There’s always jobs in science”,” you say, mimicking your fathers tone as best as you can.

“So?” Dave asks, suddenly serious.

You sigh through your nose, looking at the popcorn sitting by your side. “My dad is always saying how proud he is of me. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him. . .”

“John,” Dave says, and you turn at the use of your first name. “I’ve met your dad, and if he’s as proud of you as you say he is, then he’ll continue to be proud of you no matter what, as long as you do what makes you happy.”

You stare at him for a bit, reading his features. His mouth is set in a straight line as he looks back at you, turned in your direction. He’s unflinching, and a soft smile breaks out across your face. The lights dim in the room a moment later, and you feel like you should reach out to him or something. But instead, your turn and grab the bag of popcorn, offering it to him, smile still on your lips.

It’s too dark to see any shape behind his lenses, but he hesitates for a moment before smiling at you in return, grabbing a handful of buttered kernels.

Opening previews bring you back to the theater, and you turn to face the screen, grabbing a good amount of popcorn and shoving it into your mouth.

 

“But why would she just throw the baby’s bones over the cliff!? I mean, they lead up to the whole thing and then _nope_ , bye kid, sorry you weren’t good enough.”

“Oh dude, I know! And, don’t get me wrong okay, that little sister was fucking crazy, but you’d think after that scene with her and Annabel that she would make it out of the movie alive.”

“Right!? But seriously, I would have given up on her at the end there. You want the psychotic kid, you picky ghost? Fine, take her.”

Your walk home with Dave goes a lot like this, yelling and laughing about the movie. It’s early afternoon now, with less people on the streets than this morning. You both take the detour through the park without a second thought, and stroll side by side through the large gates. The kids on the playground keep you from sitting on the monkey bars again, so you both continue down the stone path until you’re past the trees and back out onto the other side of the street.

Mrs. Neil is sitting in her usual bench as you enter your building, and you wave at her animatedly. She greets you both with a smile, and the little red cardinals at her feet peck at the old bread she threw around.

“You stayin’?” Dave asks as you follow him into his apartment, taking off your jacket and throwing it over the back of the futon.

“Duh,” you tell him, falling back onto the folded mattress. He plops down next to you, arms over the back and knees spread wide. “Personal space?” you laugh, knocking your knee against his own. It shakes but doesn’t move, and you push at him. “Just put on the T.V., dick hole.”

“You hurt me,” he says, clutching at his chest.

“You bore me.”

“Ouch. That’s what I mean, John. Your words, they cut me deep. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh, shoving him hard away from you. He glasses get knocked askew and he looks up at you, resting back on his elbows and releasing breathy laughs. “How come you never take those off?”

The question catches him off guard, and he tilts his head at you. His shades are still askew over the bridge of his nose, and you can see more of his right eyebrow and left cheek. “My eyes are pretty fucked up,” he says, “also photosensitive.”

“Fucked up how?” you ask, resting your right arm over the back of the futon, turning your body to face Dave. “Like Vriska’s weird pupil thing or?”

“It’s nothing, really,” he says, breaking eye contact with you, staring at the television instead.

“Well you can’t just say something like that and not expect me to not want to see them! C’mon Dave, gimme the goods.” You waggle your eyebrows at him for good measure.

“. . . What do you want to watch?” he asks as he sits up, fixing his shades back over his face. You pout and huff at him, then remind him that one day you’ll see those eyes, Dave. One day.

Dave gets out his laptop and hooks it up to the television, and you both watch new movies off some site as the day fades into night. “Let’s get pizza,” he says after your fourth movie of the night, and you agree quickly, pulling out your phone to make the order as Dave reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a sufficient amount of money.

When it arrives, you don’t even bother getting out plates, instead setting it out immediately on the coffee table as Dave pays. Oh God that cheese smells like heaven. By the time Dave comes back over to the couch, playing your next movie, you’re already down half a slice of pepperoni, sausage and black olive. Your body is as melted against the couch as the cheese is against its bed of bread.

“Cabin in the Woods?” you ask, sausage bits embarrassingly falling to your lap. You attempt to discreetly pick them up and put them back into your mouth. A few fall again.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, I guess. It’s never really dull, though. I can tell you that.”

Three slices later has Dave sleepily slouching toward your shoulder, every once in a while his head pulls back up sharply, but only for a few minutes though, until it’s failing again. You pat at the opposite side of his head, encouraging him to relax, and after another jolt, he doesn’t resist.

A girl is thrown around on a dock while people in a tech room celebrate, and it’s at this point that you realize you haven’t really been paying attention. Dave is snoozing against your shoulder, and you wouldn’t mind if not for the harsh jab of his shades into your skin. You force yourself to suffer until the end of the movie, and as soon as the giant hand comes up and blacks out the screen, you turn to wake Dave. “Hey,” you whisper, poking him on the nose. He twitches and huffs, but doesn’t stir. You stop trying to be considerate. “Dave wake up,” you tell him, pushing his head off your shoulder.

He groans at you, face squished against your palm as you hold him back. He doesn’t retaliate, just slumps there. “Daaave,” you whine, “I’m so tired, I want to sleep.”

“Then sleep,” he says, muffled against your palm. You bring your hand back to yourself, and Dave falls unceremoniously onto your lap.

“So then get off me and I can go home.”

“No,” he says,  clutching at the fabric of your jeans. “You can stay here, and we’ll have totally cool, ironic sleepovers.”

“Get me blankets and I’ll stay, otherwise I’m leaving.” He groans into your legs, inches from your crotch, and you would be extremely embarrassed if you weren’t half asleep at the moment. But he does get up, and stumbles into the hall closet, then into his room, and returns a moment later with a few blankets and a pillow in his hand.

He throws them at you and you curl up immediately on the futon, too tired to set it out. “I thought ironic sleepovers entailed things like dumb games and stuff.”

He groans again and smacks at you, and you smack back, and this goes on for a few more moments until you’re both too tired to continue. So you turn over, cuddling in, and Dave drags himself back to his room.

 

You’re cold, so cold, and you shiver into your blankets. Why was it so cold. Your eyes crack open, looking around the room. Oh yeah, you never left Dave’s place. You’re greeted by the sight of a mostly empty pizza box, a few stray wires, and two pairs of shoes. You contemplate getting up to find more blankets, but oh you’re so tired. So you push away at your senses and bring your legs up to your chest, attempting to warm your toes against your shins. It’s all of no use though, and you sigh.

You peek around the side of the futon at Dave’s door, which you see is cracked open. The bedroom in your own apartment is usually warmer than the rest of it, and you suppose Dave’s is the same. So, you stand up, wrapping yourself in your blankets and grabbing your pillow before sauntering over to Dave’s room.

The door creaks open as you look in, and you see part of Dave, his left arm slung over the side of his mattress. You debate with yourself about going in, but in the end, the low temperature of your body wins out, and you push yourself into the room. You stand there awkwardly for a moment, debating internally on what you should actually do. Without any other ideas, you make your way over to Dave’s bed, where the blond in question is sleeping soundly. You almost trip over a large pillow that had fallen over the side. Once you’re close enough, you swear you can almost feel the warmth emanate from the bed.

God you are so cold.

“Dave,” you whisper. He doesn’t budge. “Daaave,” you say, slightly louder. He doesn’t wake, but instead he reaches out and makes a grabbing motion off the edge of the bed. Little clingy Dave dropped his body pillow on the floor. You pick it up and shove it at him, and he takes a hold of it immediately.

There no longer being enough space at this side of the bed, you walk around and climb under the covers, your own blankets still wrapped around yourself. Dave shifts beside you, and you see him cling to the large pillow, arms and legs wrapped around it. You smile at the sight and turn over, finally finding a comfortable sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok news time
> 
> im going to be pretty busy for the next few weeks, so i dont think i'll be working on the next chapter too much until im back from canada. then theres otakon and stuff, so if i have the supplies by then i'll be working on cosplay
> 
> i really hope you guys dont get to rowdy aha, especially since of where we are in the story
> 
> i'll maybe be doodling for this fic as well when i have a few minutes to myself, so you can look for that on my tumblr(thesunmaid.tumblr.com)
> 
> i was really motivated to get this chapter out before monday, so here we are aha. i hope you guys enjoyed it and i'll see you all later


	15. Family reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock here comes Bro Strider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god this week has been so stressful and i still have one more to go filled with energized friends from california i dont think i'll make it

When you wake the next morning, it’s slowly and comfortably. You’re warm beneath the thick cover of your duvet, and your shirt isn’t riding up your torso like it does half the time. Your eyes are still closed as you shift slightly, the morning light too much for your sensitive eyes like usual. However, you don’t reach for your shades, and instead nuzzle your face back into the plush fabric of your large, soft body pillow.

This is not your body pillow.

Now your eyes open, although it pains you to do so, but you’re tired and confused and it is too early for this.

Your face is buried in messy, dark locks, and you feel a few stuck to your tongue. The muscle awkwardly attempts to spit the little hairs out, which refuse to leave the wet cavern of your mouth. The little hairs in question are attached to the head snuggled tightly beneath your chin, and you blush furiously, now noticing the sensation of his arms wrapped tightly around your back.

Definitely too fucking early for this.

You go to shift out of his embrace, and find your legs tangled and twisted with his own. Your own arms were still wrapped around his shoulders as they had been when you woke, and you know you should pull away, need to before he wakes up. . . but you can’t bring yourself to do so.

God, you like him so much and this is the most contact you’ve ever had with him. Or at least the most intimate(never mind, he kissed you FUCK he _kissed_ you). You hate yourself as you go against your better judgment, pulling him closer and hugging him tightly as you sigh into his messy hair. He shifts against you, and for a moment you freeze, but he’s still asleep and nuzzles further into your chest, fingers gripping at the back of your shirt before relaxing.

You wish you could stay like this, wish it could be an everyday thing, but your subconscious eats at the back of your mind, telling you how very un-real your wishes are. He’ll never return your feelings, and the sooner you accept this fact, the easier moving on is going to be.

But fuck, you really don’t want to move on because you are already in too deep. You don’t think you could if you wanted to.

You peek down at the goof cuddled tightly against you and sigh at the expression on his features. His smile is bright as he nuzzles against you, and you can’t do this right now. So, biting the bullet, you begin to extricate yourself from his grasp, from his legs wrapped around your own. When you’re almost out, your arm still trapped beneath his weight, you hesitate. You look at his sleeping face for a moment longer before, after much hesitation, bring your right arm up to push away his bangs before kissing his forehead. Your face gets warm as you linger there, your lips lightly placed above his brow line, and you want nothing more than to pepper those kisses down to his lips, but you resist the urge to do so, and instead pull away from him, slide your shades on, and slip out of the room quietly.

You take a much needed deep breath once you’re out in the hall, and walk over to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water. It calms you, pushes the burn off your cheeks so you can function as properly as you can with an attractive boy sleeping soundly in your bed.

When did he even get in there?

The fact that he must have climbed in on his own flushes your cheeks again.

When you leave the bathroom, the collar of your shirt damp and cheeks no longer red, you head over to the kitchen and grab a cold slice of pizza for breakfast. It’s the only food left in the fridge except for chocolate syrup. You really need to get to the store and stock up again.

You sit over on the futon, where John was supposed to be sleeping, and sigh, taking another bite of your breakfast. Fucking John Egbert. Fucking John Egbert and his perfect face and lame jokes and sweet nature and good heartedness and just fuck him. Fuck him for making you feel like a total sap, a mess, a shame to your family name.

But you still want nothing more than to _be more_ to him than just best friends.

You’re going to hate yourself for doing this, and you can feel the oncoming storm before your phone even turns on.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 8:21 --

TG: ok bro i already feel fucking amazing asking you for  
TG: advice  
TG: ugh i fucking shuddered as i typed that out ok  
TG: fuck i just  
TG: youve dated right  
TG: or at least got people to sleep with you  
TG: that much i know  
TG: the walls arent as thick as you apparently think they are  
TG: bro i  
TG: . . .  
TT: Dave, I know taking words and forming coherent sentences is a tough task for you but please if you would be so kind as to spit it out.  
TG: fuck you bro its not like we talk about feelings and shit on a regular basis just  
TG: give me a sec  
TT: . . .  
TT: Okay, Dave you are my brother and while you may be a fucking shit sometimes you are my shit and I love you.  
TT: But five minutes of “sec”s is enough time for anyone to at least put a phrase together.  
TT: . . .  
TT: Are you even there?  
TG: ok never mind i thought he woke up but were good  
TG: fuck fuck fuck bro help me im a fuckin wreck  
TT: Deep breaths, Dave.  
TT: And tell your darling brother what is troubling you.  
TG: im just a fucking idiot and i keep digging myself deeper into the inescapable trench that is john egbert  
TT: This the kid Rose was telling me about?  
TG: fucking rose of course she told you  
TG: the fact that you both are so close reaches a creepy level sometimes  
TT: Hey, at least someone in this family appreciates the fine art of Smuppets.  
TG: im gonna have to stop you right there  
TT: You aren’t my real brother.  
TT: Remember Dave?  
TT: When you were younger?  
TT: And you had that one smuppet you refused to leave the house without?  
TG: stop stop stop stop stop  
TG: ugh what is happening to this conversation we were supposed to be talking about feelings and shit  
TG: where was i  
TT: Your Egbertian trench.  
TG: right  
TG: fuck uh  
TG: ok bro im just gonna come out and say it  
TG: the little dork has got me hook line and sinker  
TG: im like the fish in that book about the old guy  
TG: and john is the old guy  
TG: and the hook is wedged deep in there in the roof of my mouth  
TG: and no matter how hard i try or how far i go hes still there holding on to that damn reel  
TG: hands all cut up and shit  
TG: and in the end im going to be the one eaten by sharks  
TT: I really don’t think that analogy works for your present situation.  
TT: C’mon Dave.  
TT: I know you’re stressed out but please get your references correct.  
TG: fuck you help me  
TT: First question.  
TT: Do you want his hot beef injection or not?  
TG: oh my god  
TT: So yes, then.  
TT: Second question.  
TT: Do you only want sex or do you want his dorky little hand all grasped around your own?  
TG: shit bro i dont  
TG: i  
TG: bro i like him a lot  
TG: i don’t know what to do because i really dont think hes up for any dude meat near his own in the near future  
TG: but i want his bro i do i want it  
TG: but i want to be with him too like  
TG: i fuckin kissed him this morning bro and it was chaste and lame but i did it  
TT: Woah, you are really letting it out.  
TG: bro i  
TG: fuck  
TG: fuck hes waking up  
TT: Dave.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 8: 40 --

John wobbles out of the hall, fist rubbing at his eye as he yawns. He smiles sleepily at you, eyes closing, and stretches. “Morning,” he says, still smiling, hair mussed, and his bangs are still pushed back from when you kissed him.

You swallow nervously, locking your phone and setting it on top of the pizza box as he shuffles over. “Morning,” you reply, scooting over for him to sit, and you’re practically up against the armrest. He’s looking at you, sleepy but content, and you look back, hoping you don’t appear as anxious as you feel. God, Strider pull your shit together what is happening to you?

He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes a deep breath and sighs. “You don’t happen to have any food, do you?”

You shake your head, replying, “Only pizza,” and he sighs again, but this time it’s exasperated. He slouches against the back of the futon, grumbles a bit, then stands.

“I’ll be back,” he says, tiredly saluting you as he walks down the hall and into the bathroom.

You take this time to situate yourself, patting your cheeks and sighing into your hands. You’re good, you’re good, you’re fine. Everything is okay. Slowly, you calm down again, and you rest against the couch, slouching with your arms over the back. You stare down at the pizza box, and debate with yourself about folding it up yet. You do so however, to keep yourself occupied, and by the time the box is folded and shoved into the garbage bin you hear knocking on the front door.

You’re confused, because not many people actually knock on your door. Really, the only one who does is occupying your bathroom. Your only other semi-frequent visitor is your sister, but she never really knocks. So as you walk over to the door, you’re cautious. It’s most likely just a solicitor, but you can’t help but feel nervous as your hand twists the knob.

The door is being pushed open before you even let go of the handle, and you’re shoved back almost hard enough to send you flying up against the wall.

“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

You think your heart just stopped.

You peek around the door, and lo and behold there he is, your older brother in all of his popped collar and tight pants glory. Those pointy shades are soon locked on your own lenses, and you step out before he comes for you. So you close the door and lean back against it, again trying not to look as anxious as you feel. But he’s your brother and he can smell your fear a mile away.

“W-what are you doing here?” you ask quickly, and it comes out like a short whisper.

“What?” he says, feigning hurt as he brings his hand up to his chest. “Can’t I just visit my darling younger brother without an ulterior motive?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you huff silently, and you know he can see it. Really, you have nothing against your brother. Honestly you two get along just like all other siblings. But after all the shit you just spilled to him, with John only down the hall, you’re nervous as fuck and you know he can tell.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, “I’m just on my way up to Mom’s. She doesn’t know I’m coming so don’t tell her, it’s a surprise.”

Slowly, cautiously, you make your way off the door but don’t move too far. You’re really not sure what to expect. For all you know, he could initiate a strife at any moment and you really don’t want John caught in the crossfire.

“So? Where is the little dork?”

Or that.

“Bro. No,” you tell him curt and to the point. Your fingers tense around their grip on your arms as you glare at him.

But he smirks at you at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and your heart stops again as you tense, eyes shifting over to the hall.

John walks out of the bathroom calmly, but stops short once he sees your brother by the futon. His blue eyes flit over to you in silent question before they’re back on your brother, who has taken it upon himself to start introductions.

He flashsteps over to John, who jumps at the sudden blur of movement. You’ve never flashstepped around John before, not sure what his reaction to it would be, but he seems to be more nervous about who the douche in the anime shades is and why is he in his personal bubble.

Bro turns back to you, grin on his face as he asks, “This him?” You glare in return, and you know he’s enjoying your distress in his twisted brotherly way. John mumbles his confusion in the background and Bro turns back to him, face glowing. “I’ve heard so much,” your brother tells him, taking John’s hand in his. “The name’s Dirk,”  and he’s got that ‘charming’ smirk on his face.

John in turn stutters before introducing himself with a hesitant, “U-um, I’m John. Egbert.”

“Egbert, huh?” Dirk asks, John’s hand still in his own, and fuck you, Dirk you already know his name. John looks down and away from him, and his eyes look over to you from across the room, his cheeks flushed an embarrassed pink. No, no stop being cute right now John it is not the time for this. “I approve,” Dirk says to you in a terrible impression of a doting mother.

“Bro,” you warn, but he doesn’t listen because he knows you won’t actually try anything. You are so tempted to take out your sword but you don’t want to freak out John, let alone the neighbors. So you stand there, fuming by the door.

“I hope I’m not intruding-“

“You are.”

“But I’ve been _dying_ to meet you.”

“Really?” John asks, surprised by Dirk’s words. “M-. . . why?”

“I’ve heard _so_ many nice things, haven’t I, Dave?”

“Bro, knock it off.”

He steps back from John, hands up in surrender again, and John watches the both of you like a frightened yet intrigued animal. “Like I said, little man, I’m just passing through. Thought I’d see how you were doing up in college. Meet your little friend. Probably stop by Rosie’s place.”

“Good. Go there,” you tell him, taking a few steps toward the two. You wish he would knock it off. This little reunion could have been so much more laid back and normal like it usually is between the both of you. Just chill, play a few videogames, insult each other and he would be on his way. But no, of course not, because he caught you while John was here and he’s never going to let it go until you stand your ground.

He stands up tall, no longer keeping up his conversation with John, and looks at you. He’s got that cocky smile and his face and he laughs silently a few times before walking back over to you. He’s got about four inches on you, and you look up at him, silently begging for him to leave. He takes pity on you, smile softening and sighs. “Alright, alright,” he says, bringing his gloved hand up to pat the top of your head, “I’m goin’ now.” And then he leans in close to your ear, so only you can hear it when he says, “Good luck, lil’ man.”

Your scowl softens at his words as he pulls back, and he gives you a long look before ruffling your messy hair and saying his goodbyes. “Bye, John.”

“Bye?”

He tips his cap, and is out the door as quickly as he came in. You wait for a moment, just to make sure he doesn’t come back, then finally relax, arms falling and sighing. “John, I am so fucking sorry.”

You look up to a much different sight than you were expecting. There he is, John Egbert, laughing by the hall. “Dave,” he laughs, “your brother is an interesting fellow I can tell you that.”

“Well I’m glad _you_ enjoyed it.”

“Aww,” he smiles, walking over to you, “he was just fucking around. C’mon,” and he pats your cheek, “let’s get dressed and go food shopping because I need to eat a good meal.”

 

After you’re both dressed, you decide to finally get the rest of your things from the truck before you go anywhere, and once your bags are back inside your respective apartments, you both climb into your truck and drive down to the store. John talks animatedly from the passenger seat throughout the entire short ride, discussing unimportant topics that you listen to mainly for the sound of his voice.

The parking lot is near empty when you arrive, and you park near the entrance of the store for shorter walking distance. John hops out the side as you take the keys out of the ignition and join him as he skips over to the doors.

Inside the store is pretty empty, which is why you like going out early. Not having to deal with large crowds and obnoxious consumers keeps you cool and collected. John has already grabbed a cart, and is riding it as you walk over to him, smiling happily. You smile back, shoving your hands in your pockets and pulling the cart along.

First you go through the isles getting the essentials. Milk, eggs, apple juice, etcetera. John tries to sneak in a few extra sweets, and you let him, pretending you don’t notice. The smile on his face is sly as he thinks his gambit is rising.

“Dave, Dave, Dave!” John calls from the isle over as you’re examining the cereal boxes. You toss in a few boxes of Cheerio’s and Cinnamon Toast Crunch before pushing the cart around and finding John. He bounds over to you from a large bin of five dollar movies, and you are cautious as to what he wants. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he chants continuously, clutching one of the movies in his hands.

“Okay, okay, shush. What is it?” You ask, trying to silence him before someone comes over to inspect the noise.

“Please, please we have to c’mon please,” he whines, holding the movie still. You squint, trying to examine it as he hops up and down. It’s Princess Bride. Oh God, damn him you cannot resist that movie, as dorky as it may be it is a classic.

“Fine,” you tell him, and he cheers as he continues to hold onto the movie instead of putting it in the cart. Curious, you head over to the bin yourself, inspecting the choices. There’s a lot of shitty movies sitting on top, like Weekend at Bernie’s and some super old Batman’s. But however, down near the bottom of the bin you see gold. And it’s in the form of three cheap and amazing movies. Back to the Future, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Galaxy Quest. Oh man, oh man.

You reach in and grab them, then toss them into the cart alongside the Cosmic Brownies. John peeks in, approving smile on his lips. “Man, Galaxy Quest is great. We should watch it when we get home.”

God you both are so domestic.

It’s not until you both are at the checkout that conversation starts up again. “I’ve been thinking about that job,” John says as he puts the apple juice jugs on the conveyer belt. You hum to let him know you’re listening as you hand him items from the cart. “I think I might take it. . .”

You know he should. But you’re spoiled with him. Would rather he spend his free time with you. Also, you aren’t blind. You saw the glances Vriska had given you at the café yesterday, along with her words. You don’t know what the two have or had or what, but she gives off a bad vibe.

But opposed to your own thoughts, you tell him, “Yeah, sounds good.”

You know he’s giving you one of his hesitant looks, but you keep your eyes on the items in the cart as you pull them out and set them on the belt. He lets it drop, and finishes setting out the groceries as you go up to pay.

You’re pulling out your credit card before the man with the colorful mohawk can ask your preferred method of payment, and John helps you with the bags as you carry them back out to the truck.

John’s hands tap against the dash to the radio throughout the ride home, and by the time you both are back at the building, the tense air is gone once again. He follows you up to your apartment, then takes a few of the bags back to his own place to stock up. You mock him, he laughs, and says he just took you up on your offer. But only this one time.

When he comes back, you’re already setting up the movie. He tells you he brought Princess Bride and that you should watch it next.

When the movie is starting, and you’re seated on the futon, John snuggling into your side, you realize how badly you want this. Want him. And your chest pangs at the thought of losing it all over making a terrible mistake. So, you’ll suffer, as long as you’ll still have these moments. As long as you'll still have John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a lame troll cameo im sorry


	16. Trying something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John asks Dave some awkward questions and is given the answers he was looking for, he finds it’s time to indulge in his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im slightly hesitant about this chapter so i hope you guys like it aha

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 23:30 --

EB: rose are you there?  
EB: i can’t sleep.  
EB: . . .  
EB: i think i need some advice.  
EB: . . .  
EB: sorry you’re probably sleeping i'll just try again in the morning.  
TT: Hello, John. Sorry for not responding sooner I was just helping Kanaya with the dishes.  
TT: What seems to be troubling you?  
EB: i don’t even really know how to word this correctly.  
EB: um.  
EB: okay uh.  
EB: this is a judgment free zone okay?  
EB: remember how i, um. . . kissed dave at the christmas party?  
TT: Yes, John. I remember it quite clearly.  
EB: aha, yeah um. . .  
EB: well i.  
EB: might have.  
EB: . . .  
TT: Might have what, John?  
EB: okay let’s just say that maybe there was a dream involving both dave and myself.  
EB: that kind of surpassed cheek kissing.  
TT: Would it be too much of me to assume that this dream wasn’t rhetorical?  
EB: no.  
EB: it wouldn’t.  
TT: I see.  
TT: Would it also be too much of me to assume that this dream isn’t your only issue?  
EB: . . .  
EB: no. . .  
TT: Then please elaborate, John.  
TT: It is still a judgment free zone and I want to help.  
TT: Let’s start with the dream and we’ll work our way up.  
TT: Does that sound good?  
EB: yeah.  
EB: okay so.  
EB: i guess i'll start with that night, then. . .  
EB: well i was really nervous afterwards.  
EB: i don’t know he just seemed really upset.  
EB: so that night the um.  
EB: dream.  
EB: well, it was like i was reliving it?  
EB: but then instead of. . .  
EB: me kissing him. . .  
EB: he uh. . .  
TT: Kissed you?  
EB: yeah.  
TT: Purely for the sake of dream interpretation, was it chaste or was tongue involved?  
EB: ugh.  
EB: um.  
EB: well. . .  
EB: it was really. . . sweet? i guess?  
EB: like. he cupped my cheek and stuff.  
EB: ughhh.  
TT: Was that all?  
EB: no.  
EB: ugh this is really awkward to talk about i'm sorry i'm trying.  
TT: It is okay John, please take your time.  
EB: thanks.

The harsh light of your computer screen irritates your eyes through your glasses, and you bring your hands up, attempting to rub away the soreness. You’ve only been home for a few hours, and those few hours have been spent hopelessly trying to fall asleep, so now here you are.

You’ve been having your thoughts again. Well, they never really stopped, but they’ve progressively gotten more frequent. You just don’t want to feel this way anymore. You wish things could be like how they were before. You were sure Rose could shed some light on the situation, but this is a lot harder than you thought it was going to be. Rose is a good sport though, and she understands this stuff.

Besides, it’s easier than talking with Dave about it.

EB: okay so. . . the kiss.  
EB: well, it was pretty normal i guess?  
EB: you know, what kisses entail.  
EB: but um.  
EB: i had pulled him back in and we.  
EB: tongue.  
EB: almost.  
TT: Almost?  
EB: i woke up just before. . .  
TT: I see.  
TT: Well, in your case we have a few different possibilities.  
TT: Dreaming of a kiss denotes love, affection, contentment, etcetera.  
TT: This does not mean that you are in love with Dave.  
TT: As is very obvious to those around you, the both of you are very close.  
TT: But that is perfectly normal for friends, so do not get so worked up about it.  
TT: It happens more than you would think.  
EB: well that’s good i guess.  
TT: However.  
EB: oh no there’s a however.  
TT: As kissing with tongue would entail.  
TT: Or “French Kissing.”  
TT: Suggests that you need to express emotions in a more honest way.  
TT: Maybe show more passion.  
TT: Or, be more open with your sexuality.  
TT: Which doesn’t sound too out of left field.  
TT: Especially because it was Dave you had kissed.  
EB: oh god.  
EB: rose, i don’t know. . .  
EB: i mean, what would dave even think?  
EB: hypothetically of course!  
TT: I don’t think Dave would be mad with you, John.  
TT: Sexuality doesn’t really mean much to him.  
EB: what do you mean?  
TT: Has he not told you?  
TT: Dave himself is Pansexual.  
TT: Or at least Bisexual.  
TT: He doesn’t bring it up too often so I guess that’s why you wouldn’t know.

Dave’s. . .

You sit back in your desk chair as you run a hand over your scalp. Well now don’t you feel even more awkward? You mean. . . what if Dave already feels that way about you?

You scoff at your own thought, elbows going to rest on the desk. Why would he? You don’t have much going for you. Also, what a dickish notion. Just because he swings for both teams doesn’t mean he wants you like that.

But. . . do you want him to?

You shake your head. No, of course not. This is all your fault for kissing him under the mistletoe. If you hadn’t done so you are positive you wouldn’t be feeling this messed up in the head.

You don’t notice the onslaught of purple text for a few moments until you finally focus and remember that you were having a conversation with someone.

TT: John are you alright?  
TT: It’s been about eight minutes now.  
TT: It’s getting late and I would like to continue if you are up for more conversation.  
TT: However, if you would like to continue this in the morning that would be fine as well.

At least she’s not being snarky.

EB: sorry, i spaced out there for a second.  
EB: um, we can continue in the morning i guess.  
EB: i'm getting tired now, aha.  
TT: Alright, if you say so.  
TT: So, I will retire for the evening.  
TT: Goodnight, John.  
EB: night, rose.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 00:16 --

You push back from the desk, the wheels on your chair taking you over to your bed where you flop down. The mattress is giving as you do so, accepting your weight and sinking beneath you as you lay there at the foot of the bed. You stay there for a few minutes, attempting to relax and clear your head. It doesn’t work. So instead you crawl up and situate yourself under your covers.

You lay there, thinking about a lot, but mostly about the information Rose had just revealed to you. Why wouldn’t Dave tell you that? Was he maybe afraid of what you would think? Of how you would react? You would still be his friend, still be close. Nothing would change. . . Right? You tell yourself this, even though you had been contemplating otherwise just minutes ago.

You groan, burying your face in your pillow and brining your covers over your head. Throughout the years, you’ve never given your sexuality much thought. It has always just been: meet a pretty girl, marry girl, and have children with said girl. So, heterosexual was really just what you automatically assumed you were, but. . .

You don’t even know how to _begin_ to think about this, and honestly, it’s uncomfortable and you don’t want to. So, instead of sorting out your shit like you should, you turn over and push it all to the back of your mind, now easily finding sleep.

 

You wake up the next morning not feeling nearly as refreshed as you were hoping to be. You stay there in bed for a while, willing sleep to take you again, but after a good hour, you’re still awake and grouchy. So, instead of laying around being useless, you roll out from under your blankets, give Casey some food, and sit down on your desk chair, rolling it back over to the computer.

Wiggling the mouse, the harsh light of the screen wakes you fully. You blink a few times, and continue to squint as you navigate. Checking emails(none), any webcomic updates(none). The clock at the corner of your screen tells you it’s half past eight. Rose should be awake and ready to talk again. You however, are not. So, you keep your pesterchum offline and push from the desk, then stand before making your way into the bathroom.

Your reflection in the mirror is tired, the bags under your eyes visible in the dim light coming in through the door. Lazily, you feel for the switch, and are blinded again when you find it. You stand there for a while, just staring, thinking about nothing.

What is happening to you?

Sometime later you find yourself eating eggs and toast to morning cartoons. You’re on the couch now, propped up against the armrest as you eat slowly. But the time you finish, your breakfast has gone cold, but you can’t find it in yourself to care as you chew on the last bit of crust, putting the plate in the sink for later.

At some point you get dressed, and you’re back out on the couch again, watching The Goonies. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen this movie, and through your haze you smile at your favorite scenes, your favorite lines. It helps to keep your mind off of. . .

And there you go again. Your phone in the pocket of your jeans is heavy, and you pull it out. It’s nearing eleven now, but you don’t mind. You stare at the screen for a bit, flipping through useless apps before landing on Pesterchum. After much hesitation, you open it, signing in. You see that Rose is online, but she doesn’t message you. She’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you thank her for that.

You put your phone down as you watch the end of the movie. No one messages you. After the credits finish rolling and you’re back at the title screen, you decide it’s time to think about It.

Rose said you had to be more open, right? You’re sure you’ll feel better when this is all out of the way, and you are definitely ready to start feeling better.

So. . . Where to begin? The dream you guess. You fight yourself to get past the awkward thoughts, focusing on how you felt. Dream you. You were. . . Calm. Nervous at first, but calm. Dave had. . . cupped your cheek, held you there until you were relaxed. You felt secure there, safe.

You groan into your hands, your legs brought up against your chest as you lean into them. This is so hard. You tell yourself to relax, taking deep breaths as you do so. When you feel you’re ready, you try again.

The kiss. It was. . . soft. Calming and sweet. You had pulled him back in, so you must have enjoyed it, right? At least on some level. Or was that just what Rose was saying about you two being close?

Okay, okay. Um, let’s not think about the dream now. Too confusing. Real life stuff.

When did you start feeling different? Well, duh, after the dream. That’s really what sparked all of this. It wasn’t that bad until you both had left Roxy’s, and you stopped for food. That’s where you really started flipping out. The drink thing, Dave sexily mocking you. You mean being suggestive. You groan. Was there a difference?

He had slept with you that night after you told him to. You had crawled into bed with him. . .

Okay, alright. Let’s forget about Dave. What about guys in general?

You rest your chin on your knees as you think, arms wrapping around your shins. Guys are okay, you guess. You’ve never really checked one out before besides yourself. Maybe Dave. You’ve at least seen him shirtless before. Were you phased? You didn’t think so. Did you have to be? Ugh, stop thinking about Dave.

Think Karkat. Ugh, never mind not Karkat. Umm. Think Matthew McConaughey. Would you be grossed out if _he_ got all up in your business. Come to think of it, probably not. Matthew McConaughey is an attractive man, and you have no gripes about admitting that. But does that mean you would be okay with butt stuff? You don’t think so. But again, did you have to be?

Okay, so what if you’re not the straightest knife in the drawer? This is college. You were supposed to experiment, right? And besides, everyone has had at least one gay thought before, right? Doesn’t it just happen?

The chime of your phone brings you out of your thoughts, and you pick it up, expecting Rose to have gotten impatient. Instead your stomach twists as you’re greeted by red text.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:34 --

TG: yo egbert  
TG: you awake  
TG: youre usually up pretty early so i guess so  
TG: i was just thinking  
TG: well its nice out today  
TG: wanna go to the park  
TG: you might be busy if so thats cool  
EB: hey dave.  
EB: um, i have nothing planned.  
EB: i guess we could go?  
EB: what time?  
TG: idk whenever youre ready i guess  
EB: i'm ready now.  
TG: ok sounds cool  
TG: ill meet you outside then  
EB: okay.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectobiologist [EB] at 12:37 –-

This is going to be interesting.

 

Dave greets you at your door when you leave the apartment. He’s got his camera case slung over his shoulder like he had the last time the both of you made plans to go to the park. He smiles at you, and you smile back(though it doesn’t reach your eyes) before making your way down the stairs.

It’s chilly outside, but your jacket keeps you warm enough. There is not a cloud in the sky today, and the sun helps to keep you as warm as it can in the middle of the winter. You are hyper aware of Dave next to you, walking close, his pace even with yours. His elbow hits against your arm every now and then, and every time it does you flinch away.

The park is crowded with the usual suspects. Young children crowd the playground and the swings as you both walk down the path. The snow is mostly melted away now, the off colored grass now showing openly. Stopping by an empty bench, you take a seat as Dave wanders nearby, taking pictures of birds in the trees and whatever else he deems acceptable. Like you.

“Pose for me?” he asks, holding his camera up to his face as he walks around the bench, trying to find a suitable angle.

You laugh, making an exaggerated pose as Dave stops in front of you.

“Dude, c’mon,” he says, lowering his camera, “I just need a few more shots.”

“Alright, alright,” you tell him, sitting comfortably and awaiting instruction.

He positions you around a bit, feet evenly spaced, back against the bench, gloved hands in your jacket pockets. Lastly he adjusts your blue scarf before circling you again. You laugh quietly.

Finally, he stops on your right and kneels a few feet from the bench. He flips his camera around a few times before he’s satisfied and takes a few shots. When he’s done, he takes a seat next to you, carefully putting his camera back into his bag. Reclining against the bench as well, he picks up his thermos instead, sipping at his coffee.

“Hey, Dave?” you ask after a while.

“Sup, Egbert?”

“How do guys to butt stuff?”

His near spit take is almost enough to make you laugh if you weren’t so nervous.

“W-,” he coughs on his coffee, “what?”

“Like. . .” What is right. “I don’t know. . . It doesn’t sound too comfortable. . .”

“Why are you asking me?” Dave asks after a silent moment, hesitant.

“Well. . . I was just guessing that you would have experience?”

“Why would you think that?” His tone is guarded.

“Well, Rose said how you like. . . swing for both teams or whatever. . .”

Dave groans, slouching over and putting his face in his hands. You hear what sounds like a vague “Fucking Rose is nothing sacred.”

You hunch into your shoulders, feeling really awkward, hands clenching in your pockets.

“Why do you ask?” he says after a while. “It’s not like just gay couples do that stuff.”

You shrug. “Just curious I guess. . . But. . . Do you?”

“. . . Maybe. . . Yeah. . .”

Your shoes are incredibly interesting, you come to find, as the silence between the both of you stretches on. You don’t know if you should continue with your questions, it might be a little much now. But, since you seem to lack an acceptable amount of tact, you ask anyway.

“So. . . is it weird? Butt stuff, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. . . Um. . . Yeah, at first?”

“At first?”

“Well. . . God, John.” He laughs into his hands. “Um. . . well. . . there’s this. . . thing. . .”

“Thing. . .?”

“Oh my god, John. Couldn’t you Google?”

“Well we’re already this far!”

He looks pained to answer, and you’re sure your face is glowing. It takes him a while, after some awkward shifting from the both of you, before he responds. “Okay so, there’s this. . . you have to. . . feel for it. . .” And then his face is in his hands again.

 

The walk home is possibly more awkward than the sex talk. Quiet and so tense you couldn’t cut it with one of Dave’s swords.

Let’s not think about Dave’s swords and any sexual connotation they may posses.

You both go your separate ways when you get home, and the first thing you do is run to your bedroom. Feeling bad for what you plan to do, you cover Casey’s tank with a spare blanket.

You take a deep breath before walking over to your bed and stripping off your shirt, tossing it to the floor. The mattress is soft beneath you as you sit down, resting back against your pillows and getting comfortable.

For a moment, you just sit there, willing yourself to relax. You rub your palms down your thighs as you sigh again. Slowly, you bring them back up until they’re near your hips, massaging slowly. It doesn’t take long before your jeans begin to feel tight, and you shed them off, kicking them to the foot of the bed. The slight tent in your boxers gives you nervous butterflies.

Another deep breath, now slightly shaky, before you begin to rub yourself through the thin fabric. You palm the protrusion by your hip until the tent is past half mast, and you’re squirming. Breathing now heavy, you slide your boxers down your legs, and the fabric rubs against your dick creating a wonderful friction.

You watch yourself as you’re freed from the confinement of your underwear, and you gasp as the cool air of the room hits your arousal. In moments, your boxers are gone and your hands are roaming, groping, rubbing. “A-ah!” you moan, fingers wrapping around your now fully hard cock, thumb smearing down a bead of precome.

God it’s been a while since you’ve done this, and you moan again as you slowly pump yourself. For a moment, you switch to using your left hand to roll your balls as your right reaches over to the bedside table, searching for the lotion you kept hidden in the drawer. Your fingers brush against it, and finally you grab it, pulling it out and setting it next to you.

Now was the new part. Squirting some of the lotion on your right hand, you move back to pump yourself a few more times, drawing a few gasps out of yourself before sliding down to. . . There. Your finger is slick as you poke around, and it’s awkward, especially once you brace yourself and begin to slip inside.

This is. . . definitely a new feeling, you can say that. It’s slightly painful, and you will yourself to relax around your finger before attempting to go in further. To keep your mind off the discomfort, you move your left hand up to thumb at your dick again, which had began to fall.

Okay, okay, Dave said it was weird at first you just have to. . . find the thing.

Don’t think about Dave don’t think about Dave.

In a few minutes, the one finger doesn’t chafe like it had before. . . You guess you. . . put in another?

You slowly slide in a second, thrusting slightly with both fingers. It’s chaffing again, and you gasp, pumping at your dick faster to keep yourself aroused. You begin to curl your fingers, searching for that alleged spot.

“Ah!” you cry out after a moment, pressing against something that arouses you again and makes you see stars. Your back arches off the mattress as you continue to rub against whatever it is that’s making you pant and writhe and moan. “F-fuck. . .”

You curse yourself for being loud, you’ve never been able to help it. But fuck if this doesn’t feel amazing. You’re beginning to feel a buildup, and you’re pumping your dick faster, rubbing over the head, thumbing at the slit as you push in and out of yourself, making sure to hit that spot every time. Before you know it, you’re reaching your peak, pressing hard against that spot as you climax, back arching off the bed again and moaning loudly. “A-ah!” you gasp, stilling as you spill over your stomach. You rub yourself through your orgasm, slowly lowering back down to the mattress, fingers inside you stilling.

Your panting still as you slowly pull out, and you feel oddly empty once you do so. You lay there for a few minutes, coming down from your high and relaxing into your pillows. Your dick falls flaccid against your hip and finally your reach over, grabbing a few tissues to wipe yourself clean.

You’re now extremely tired, and you feel no better than you had this morning, and before you fall asleep you reach for your phone.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering arachnidsGrip [AG] at 15:46 –-

EB: hey vriska.  
EB: i think i'm going to take you up on that job offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont forget to follow me on tumblr for chapter updates and lots of johndave!


	17. He's jealous of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introducing the new friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter! and also sorry for the wait! it took me a little bit to figure out the sequence of events coming up, but i got it now, and everything should be easy and breezy (beautiful) from here on out. well, for writings sake. the story itself is going to get a little bumpy ehehe

After your awkward conversation with John at the park, you had trouble focusing on anything else. Why would he ask? Curious my ass. Why couldn’t he just Google? Why did he ask you? Your crush on him was already past the point of no return, and when _he_ was the one to make things sexual. . . Suffice to say, the idea of John throwing you on your bed and dominating you, or vice versa, was what made your jeans tight for a good month as you made your way home from classes.

But it’s been a while since then. April has just started, and you haven’t seen much of John since he got that job at the café. You had gone almost every day that he worked for as long as you could before your school work began to catch up with you, and since John had lost most of his free time to working, his only other available hours were used for sleeping and finishing work. You had told him how strenuous it would be, and even though you can see how tired it’s making him, he had told you how much he enjoys working at the shop and that he would have it no other way.

You want him to be happy, but you really miss hanging out with him as well. You’ve chilled at Rose’s place a few times, but you can only handle so much of her sass and sister traps before you need a nap. Something even spurred you to stop by Karkat’s place once, and that went as well as you could’ve expected it to. Interrupting and then being forced to join in on one of his terrible romcom marathons was not how you were expecting to spend the evening. When Dane Cook was brought out, you knew it was your time to leave.

You just really miss John, and the fact that your boner for the kid is the size of planet fucking Jupiter doesn’t help either. You’re surprised that your lame little crush hadn’t withered at all during your time apart, but it’s still standing at full mast and as hard as ever. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you guess.

But it’s not like you’ve been wallowing in your apartment and sulking about how lonely you were, fuck that. You’re Dave fucking Strider, and damn it that is not how you roll. So, if John Egbert and his dry cleaned apron are too good for you to answer a fucking pester, then you’ll find a new friend.

Which is exactly what you’ve done.

Sort of.

There’s this girl you’ve been talking to in you Calc class for a few months now. She’s pretty cool, you guess. Easy to talk to and shit. She draws on your notes a lot, and you do the same to hers. Lots of bright colors and sloppy lines about a cool kid and a chick in red shades. Said chick in red shades is your Calc friend. Her name’s Terezi. She tells you she’s half blind as she continues to scribble your rude teacher being killed by dragons over your notes. By now your notebooks are both swapped as you draw on each others paper. You add a good amount of shitty swords and some doodles from your old webcomic. You get the urge to update it again.

Now back to the present. Calc just ended and another failed attempt at communication with John has transpired. He was on his lunch break ten minutes ago(you’ve memorized his schedule), and the extent of his reply was a greeting and then a goodbye as he got back to work. You try not to let the purse of your lips be recognizable as disappointment, but Terezi catches it like she always does.

“What’s wrong, cool kid?” she smiles, picking her bag up from where it was slouched against her chair. “John again?”

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you get up and follow her out of the room. You and Terezi have spent a lot of time talking in these past few months, and the topic of John was covered in detail. You don’t even know how she did it, but Terezi was able to weasel out all of the information she wanted without hassle. Also she didn’t give you shit for any of it. She would joke and laugh but you knew she wasn’t being genuine. It’s not like you could take her seriously with her leet speak anyway.

You don’t’ have to answer her for her to know she hit the metaphorical nail on the head. Instead she just bumps your hip with hers as you walk out of the building. “I’m hungry,” she says. “Let’s get something.” And you follow her like the puppy you are as she skips down the sidewalk, key chains on her backpack swinging and clanging against each other as she moves.

It takes about ten minutes to get into town, and five more until she decides where she wants to eat. You walk past a Starbucks and a McDonalds until you’re both in the middle of main street. “C’mon, TZ, choose something already. We could be chowing down on some godly Mickey D’s fries right now.”

“I didn’t stop you from getting them, Dave.”

“No, but I know you would have left me there.”

“I would do no such thing!” she laughs.

You grumble silently over fries for the next five minutes until you gracelessly walk into Terezi’s back. “Yo, dude, tryin’ to walk here.”

She turns and enters a shop, and following her in, the first thing you see is John waiting tables in that green fucking apron. He doesn’t see you, and Terezi makes a point of taking an empty booth in his section. You follow her semi-cautiously, and you sit next to her when she pats the empty space on her booth. You don’t question it. She’ll probably take out a pen and draw on your hand like usual.

Casually, you look around the café for John. You don’t see him anywhere in the front, so he must be in the kitchen. The only other waitress you see is that short girl in the beanie. Nepeta, you think John had said her name was. You rest your chin on your folded arms as you lean forward, closing your eyes. John should be at your table any moment with menus.

“Hey, Dave!” you hear from above you, and you tilt you head to look up at him. John is setting down two menus and pouring glasses of water while he smiles at you, and you don’t respond, just stare up at him until he’s gone again. You feel Terezi lean her elbow on your back as she drinks from her cool glass. You make no effort to move her. She stays like that for a while. You close your eyes again, finally relaxing after a day of long classes. You want to sleep.

John comes back a few minutes later to take your orders. He already knows what you want, so you don’t have to tell him. Cheese burger, cooked medium, with waffle fries and apple juice. Terezi leans over you to tell him what she wants, and you feel her elbows dig into your spine as she rests against her palms. You see John’s movements as he writes down her order, and you can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, his jeans forming around his rump perfectly. Such wonderful jeans. You would build an altar for those jeans. Get down on the ground and pray for days thanking God for how perfect they were.

“He’s jealous of me.”

“No he’s not,” you say on reflex, then let the words process for a moment before you sit up and look at her. She’s smiling her extremely toothy grin as the door to the kitchen swings closed. “What do you mean he’s jealous of you?”

“He’s totally jealous of me being all over you, I could smell it a mile away.” You roll your eyes at the whole “smelling shit” thing as she continues speaking. “Just watch, okay. I’ll prove it to you.” It’s with this that she gets uncomfortably close(er than usual), her arm slung around your shoulder as she leans into your side, sipping from her water again. That’s right, you never told John about the whole Terezi thing. Well, there is no thing. Also, you don’t have to tell John everything, even though you sort of do anyway. But jealous? No way.

Things stay like this for a couple minutes before you’re pretty sure your discomfort is easily readable from across the room. “Dave,” Terezi groans against you, slumping against your shoulder and leaning into the crook of your neck, “you have to at least _look_ like you’re not about bolt out of here. I’m not going to kiss you or anything, calm down. Gross.” You laugh a little at that, smirking slightly, and you take a sip of your water to calm yourself.

John comes out seconds later and, after listening to Terezi’s advice, you watch him closely. Both of your glasses are placed down on the table a little roughly, and a small amount of Terezi’s strawberry lemonade drips down the side of the cool glass. “Your food should be out soon,” he says, and if you hadn’t been listening closely, you wouldn’t have picked up the tense tone of his voice. He walks quickly over to another table, taking orders and clearing away dishes from an empty booth before heading back into the kitchen.

“Okay, TZ, you’ve made your point. He’s just stressed, okay? I told him this job would be too much for him.”

“Dave, for a smart guy you really are dense sometimes,” she tells you, but she drops her arm and goes to pick up her lemonade, wiping down the side before drinking it. You just shrug, grabbing your glass and downing a good amount before wiping your mouth on your sleeve. It’s when John comes back out, plates of food in either hand when Terezi clasps your own in her grasp that you see it. John nearly stops in the middle of the café, and Vriska almost crashes against him, the plates wobbling in his hands. But he doesn’t stop, and makes it over to your table without any other incident. Terezi’s hand is still in your own, and you make no move to retract it, feeling her clench tighter around your knuckles. Your hands are out on the table for the world to see.

John’s silent as he sets down the plates. No usual: “Enjoy your meal!” or “Don’t hesitate to ask for anything!” It made your chest strain. He blinks a few times, nose scrunching ever so slightly, and then he’s gone, and Vriska follows him back into the kitchen. Terezi lets go of your hand immediately after he’s left, and she starts picking at your fries. This grabs your attention, and you smack at her, grabbing more off of her plate in retaliation. She just cackles.

John doesn’t come back to your table, and when he comes close, it’s just to drop off some extra napkins before attending to other patrons. You watch him the whole time as he wanders from table to table, happily taking orders and joking with little kids. Vriska slings an arm around his neck and pulls him close, and your chest strains for an entirely different reason. But he just laughs, and picks up a few dirty plates as he heads back into the kitchen. For some reason you think his uniform is missing roller skates.

Terezi finishes her sub a few minutes before you finish your burger, and then John is back with the check. You each pay your share, but you leave the tip, making it a generous one. Terezi pushes you out of the booth, and you both grab your bags, but she stops you before you leave. “Talk to him,” she says, and you give her a questioning look, but she just nods toward the counter where you guess John is standing. You frown at her and her twisted games, but you obey, and hold your bag over your shoulder tighter as you turn around and face him. He’s already watching you.

You don’t say goodbye to Terezi, and she doesn’t say anything either before you hear the little bell ding over the door, alerting her departure from the café. You walk over to John, not making eye contact until you reach the counter. There are patrons waiting on line, and Feferi takes over for him, smiling at him, silently telling him it’s time for his break. He looks back at her for a moment, then takes a breath as he slides out from behind the counter, nodding to an empty table by the corner.

You both sit down, and it’s quiet for a few moments. John doesn’t say anything as he waits for you to say what you need to. You’re not even quite sure what you need to say, so you just say anything. “Hey, so, it’s been a while. I miss you and stuff. Sorry I haven’t been coming lately I’ve been busy with stuff. Not TZ stuff, though. That was TZ. Terezi. Her name is Terezi. We talk in Calc. I think Karkat has a thing for her. Or had. I don’t know. You should say something because I can’t stop.”

You glance up from your twitting fingers to find John staring at you, eyebrows knitted and lips parted slightly over the protrusion of his teeth. But then his expression eases, and he smiles at you, his eyes scrunching a little at the corners. “You always ramble when you’re nervous.” And he knows because he’s John and he’s learned to look past all of your shit and just mess with you. “What is it?” he asks, because he knows you would rather being sleeping right about now.

“Well, I don’t know. It’s been a while since we’ve actually chilled with each other and stuff. And, you know, your birthday is like. . . next week or whatever so. . . I don’t know. Maybe we could hang out? Or. . . something.”

John’s smile is enveloping his cheeks now, and he leans forward onto the table, nodding. “Yeah! And my schedule is cleared up too, so . . . Yeah!” And he giggles. Fucking _giggles_ and you can’t help but smile back at him, leaning your elbows on the table.

“Cool, cool,” you say, fighting the smile off of your face. “So, um. . . I’ll pick you up at eight on the thirteenth?”

“Eight on the thirteenth.”

“Okay, I’ll. . . see you then.” You stand, and he stands up with you, waving as you walk out through the doors. You’re giddy, and the slight fucking hop to your step is evident as you make your way down the sidewalk. You, and John, alone on his birthday. After months of near misses, you finally get to hang out with your best friend again.

You really hope you don’t fuck this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he's gon fuck it up


	18. It's not a date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Kanaya take it upon themselves to prepare John for his evening out, but as the night closes, certain steps taken may change John and Dave’s relationship for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little warning for alcohol use but its not like "lets get wasted!!" or anything so... but it is underage
> 
> music for this chapter is [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erywPdFfORE) if you want to listen to it

You wave to him animatedly as Dave departs from the café. Your cheeks are so sore from smiling you think it’s splitting your face in half, but do you care? Not at all. Dave asked to hang out! And while you’ve been surrounded by great friends here at the shop, you’ve missed being with Dave one on one like crazy. And for your birthday no less! Could the day get any better? You submit that it cannot.

Though that girl Dave was with gave you a funny feeling in your gut. You aren’t sure why. Dave’s allowed to have other friends! You don’t control him and he doesn’t control you. You’re glad that he’s found someone to be with now that you’re so unavailable but. . . The tightening feeling in your chest from watching them interact with each other somewhat scared you, especially since you still have so much to be awkward about just concerning you and Dave alone. The dream, the. . . talk and stuff after. But like the shit you are, telling Dave about any of this scares you to death. You would rather be stuck with embarrassing memories and a best friend than embarrassing memories and no best friend at all. Rose had said how Dave wouldn’t be mad at you, and you don’t think he would be! But. . . you’re afraid that if he finds out about those things, your relationship might change. . .

Agh, stop being so sulky, John! Next week you have a little break that you’ll use to finish catching up on school work and then celebrating your nineteenth birthday with your best friend! It’ll be great. Dave knows how to entertain, you are positive the night will be a fun one. Smiling once again, you turn around and head back to Dave’s table, collecting the dirty plates and the tip. You pick up the bill without looking at it, folding it up and putting it in your apron pocket so you can hold the dishes with ease.

You use your hip to push open the door to the kitchen, and the moment you set down the dirty dishes, Vriska is asking questions as she appears out of nowhere. “What was that about?” she smiles.

“What was what about?”

She groans childishly, head lolling back and around until she’s facing you again. She leans her crossed arms on the counter in front of you, her ass sticking out behind her, jutting in Tav’s direction as he cooks on the skillet. “You and Dave, dumbass! You were giggling like a schoolgirl.”

“I was not giggling!” You feel yourself pouting and your cheeks are warm. At this moment Nepeta walks in through the doors carrying a check. “Nep, was I giggling?”

“Like a schoolgirl,” she says, and then she’s gone again.

You huff at Vriska’s cheeky grin, and her hips sway back and forth as she looks up at you from behind her glasses. “Okay, well, even if I _did_ giggle, I have good reason to! Dave and I haven’t hung out one on one for a while. Also my birthday. I’m allowed to be excited, Vris.”

“One on one, yeah I bet,” Vriska smiles, and you swat at her with a nearby dishcloth.

“Shut up! Not like that!” And you’re positive your face is aflame in embarrassment.

“Whaaaatever, Johnny-boy,” she sighs, then stands back up before using her hip to open the door and leave the kitchen. You grumble at her even though she can’t see it.

“Hey, John,” Feferi calls your attention from the little window behind the counter, smiling as her arms cross over the frame, “quitting time, right?”

You look up at the small clock over the sink which reads half past five. You smile, untying the long strands of your apron and folding it up as you walk over to the little cubbies. Your name is written in blue ink on a well sorted cubby near the bottom. You take out your jacket and phone, exchanging them with your apron before you slip into the warm sleeves. “See you guys on Monday!” you call, waving at your co-workers as you punch out. You leave through the front exit, waving goodbye to Vriska as you head out. It’s strangely cold today, and the forecast on your phone is calling for snow next week. You’re not sure how you feel about that.

Once you’re back in your apartment, you kick off your shoes and flop on your bed, too tired to do any work. At least you don’t have classes tomorrow.

 

Before you know it, it’s next Friday night, and you are sitting in your apartment watching movies and eating leftover cake from the little birthday party your café friends had thrown for you. Feferi had assured you it was a family recipe and that no accursed bake mix had been anywhere near the kitchen at the time of its conception. The harsh light of your television screen highlights your blanket-wrapped form out of the darkness of the living room. You had brought Casey out for the occasion, fed her some little salamander snacks, and now she’s cuddled up in the expanse of your blankets as it snows outside. You find it odd that it’s snowing at this time of year. Maybe this means a cooler summer.

It’s nearing one in the morning, now, and you haven’t been able to fall asleep for the last three hours. You’re just really excited! Tomorrow(today?) is your birthday! And you’re going to hang out with Dave! You can’t wait. Finally, you’ll be 19 just like the rest of your friends.

At some point, you do manage to pass out in front of the television, and you wake up to a knocking on your door. You didn’t sleep the day away, right? And a quick glance out the window shows you that it is definitely not eight yet, so this shouldn’t be Dave. Curious, you stand up, picking up Casey’s sleeping form in your hands as you sleepily make your way over to the door.

The loud, “Surprise!” is what jolts you from your half-asleep state, and you rub at your eyes against the harsh afternoon sun. the two blurry forms hug you quickly and make their way inside your apartment, and you turn to find your glasses so you can greet them properly.

“Rose, Kanaya,” you say, fumbling with your square frames, “what time is it?”

“Time for you to be awake,” Rose says, and they have large bags with them. Why do they have large bags with them? Maybe it’s just a girl thing.

“It’s your birthday, John,” Kanaya says, setting up her bag on your bar counter.

“And we’ve heard about your plans for the evening,” Rose interjects.

Here we go. You groan. “It’s okay guys, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll be fine.”

At this point, Kanaya has approached you and is now poking at your messy hair. She hums as she does so, and you get a bad feeling about all of this. “John, you can’t be planning to go out on your date tonight in this state.”

Her jab at your physical appearance is overshadowed by: “Date!? What!? No! No, no! It’s not a date!” and you recoil from her touch as she twirls one of your black strands between her fingertips.

“Now Kanaya, we’ve discussed this,” Rose says as she pulls products from her large bag. “The boys have a different label for this evening. They will just be enjoying each other’s company past hours.”

“Way to make it sound weird, Rose.” You give her a look. Kanaya sighs behind you.

“At least allow me to give you a haircut. Your mane is becoming quite shaggy.”

You self-consciously touch at the strands against the back of your neck. “It’s not that bad,” you mumble. She was right, you were in need of a cut. She gives you a _look_ , and you guess you can at least let her do this one thing, if it will get them to stop making assumptions about your evening plans.

That makes it sound like a date.

You sigh over-exaggeratedly and slump. “Fine. Okay. Haircut. But that’s it, alright!”

Both of the girls brighten up at this, and get to work immediately. Rose shuffles you into the bathroom, Casey on your shoulder, and Kanaya comes in moments later with a chair for you before she’s back out in the living room. Rose sits you down, and Casey runs onto the counter to watch the mess unfold.

Kanaya comes back, bags in hand, and then gets to work. She washes your hair in the sink, and her fingers get caught on a few unruly knots here and there, but she combs them out before shampooing again. After the conditioner has been run through, and your hair smells fruity, she’s sitting you upright again, towel around your shoulders as your hair drips off excess water.

“My goodness, John, do you comb your hair at all?”

“Shut up! Yes! I try.”

She mumbles something, but you can’t catch it as Rose searches through one of the bags on the counter. She pulls out a pair of scissors that she hands to Kanaya, and as soon as they’re in her grasp, she gets to work, separating, clipping and cutting. “Just a trim, right?”

“Yes John, don’t worry, you will look fine.”

Yet you can’t help the knotted feeling in your throat as you watch Kanaya trim the back of your hair, watching as she snips away what appear to be long strands. Her eyes lock with yours in the mirror before she cuts again, and you know to just trust her.

The trimming goes on for at least a good hour, but feels more like five, and your semi-dry hair begins to frizz up and poof at its now shorter length. Kanaya takes out a spray bottle and wets your hair again before going for your bangs, and you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath as the tiny hairs fall and land across your cheeks and nose, get caught on your eyelashes and tickle your skin. “Hold still,” she tells you before she finishes them off, then wipes at your face with a cloth before you breathe in again, and you frantically wipe away the few places she missed; at the corner of your eyes and under your nose.

You look at yourself in the mirror as Rose hands her a small brush and the blow-dryer. With your hair naturally so poofy and unmanageable, seeing your reflection with wet hair pressed flat against your scalp is an odd sight at the least. It makes your face look to large, your jaw too angular, and you look away self-consciously as Kanaya begins to dry your hair. There’s lots of tugging and your head is pulled along with her movements, her hand repeatedly moving you back after a particularly rough tug. You try not to wince too much, even as the heat of the hair-dryer burns your scalp as she styles your bangs.

The flat iron is next, and you’ve always been anxious around them after a particularly bad burn to your forehead on picture day back in grade school, so you close your eyes and think of the open, blue sky you love so much as Kanaya gets too close for comfort with the burning object. It doesn’t take too much longer after that, and you release a sigh of relief as she puts away iron. Lastly, she takes out small bottles and rubs creams onto her fingertips, mixing them together in her palm before she combs it through your hair. The sensation is soothing after such an experience and you sigh, thankful that it’s over now.

Kanaya smiles at your expression as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You decide in this moment to never have doubts about Kanaya’s ways again. You bring a hand up and brush your fingers through your bangs, flipping them a few times, the strands downy soft against your skin. Your hair hasn’t looked this nicely managed in a long time and you are so grateful.

“I think he likes it,” you hear Rose quip in the back, but you ignore her and instead turn to Kanaya to thank her profusely. “I should pay you,” you say, “Never another shitty hairstylist again,” you say, and she covers her mouth with her hand as she smiles at your enthusiasm, laughing lightly.

“Well if you trust me so much. . .” she says, and you become hesitant, “would you mind if I helped you with your wardrobe choice for the evening?”

You’re beginning to feel like this is some warped version of a girly slumber party, but you hesitantly accept her request, and she smiles openly, turning to Rose who looks on with a knowing smile on her face, eyebrow arched, arms crossed over her chest as she leans her right shoulder against the doorway. You’ve seen Dave give the same look before, and despite the fact that they’re twins, in this moment you can really see the resemblance between the two.

You put a smile on your face for Kanaya as you remove the towel from around your shoulders, careful to not let much more hair fall onto the bathroom floor, then roll it up and toss it in the sink to shake out later. You grab Casey from the counter, and the girls then follow you into your room, and you feel bad for its state of disarray as they sit on your bed and watch you go through your closet after putting Casey back in her tank. “I was just planning on jeans and a tee,” your muffled voice comes from between the fabric of your clothes as you wade yourself through.

You feel a presence by your side, and you peek out to see Kanaya by you once more. She scans your wardrobe slowly, hand reaching up once in a while to examine an article of clothing before she drops it again. “Is this all you have?”

“U-um, no. There’s more in the dresser.”

“May I?” she asks, and you nod before she walks over and opens up one of the lower drawers, which reveals more jeans. She brings her hand up to her chin as she looks them over slowly. “These look fairly new,” she says, picking up a neatly folded pair of darker jeans and shaking them out to look them over. She tosses them over on the bed before opening another drawer, thankfully missing the one that holds your undergarments. Her hands sift through the choices, and in the end pull out a pale blue, collarless button-up that you almost forgot you owned. “Undershirts?” she asks, and you nod at her, sliding past her and discreetly pulling out a plain white tee from the drawer which holds your underwear.

She then takes both shirts and heads back over to your bed, and you watch over her shoulder as she arranges them. Pulling the white tee up through the blue button-up and undoing a couple of the upper and lower buttons as a finishing touch. “I’m sure shoes won’t be an issue for you,” she says, and you shake your head.

“Well,” you turn to them, smile on your face, “thanks for everything you guys! I really appreciate all that you’ve done! Tonight’s going to be great!” And you hope they get the message that you want to be left alone now to get ready, but instead they exchange a glance and look back at you, Rose still smiling and Kanaya watching you expectantly. You sigh, “I guess I’ll get changed then?” And then Rose is shuffling Kanaya out of the room, and you watch as they head back into the bathroom to clean up before you close your door.

You give Casey an exasperated look, and she stares up at you. “Girls. Am I right Casey?” She tilts her head at that, and you smile, “but not you.”

It doesn’t take you too long to get dressed, and once you do you saunter out into the living room where the girls are seated on the couch. Their conversation stops short once Rose catches sight of you walking out from the hall, and Kanaya then turns to get a good look at you. The smile on her face makes you feel a little better, and you look down at your hands as they smooth down the wrinkles in your shirt.

“My, my, John,” Rose says, “Dave won’t know what hit him.” You look up at that, angry pout on your face as she laughs softly at you.

“Okaaay girls,” you sigh, crossing your arms and holding your elbows as you look away from them, “I have-“ and your eyes widen when they catch sight of the clock, “an hour. Thank you for all of your help and stuff, I really appreciate it but-“

“We get it, John,” Rose says, collecting her things as she stands, “we’re on our way.” They walk up to you, hug you, say their goodbyes, Kanaya fixes your shirt and Rose pulls her out the door, then you’re alone.

You go back into your room and catch sight of yourself in the full-length mirror. Slowly, you smile at your reflection, touching at your knotless hair and smoothing down your shirt. You laugh a little as you continue to stare at yourself. It might have been tiresome, but the girls sure knew what they were doing.

For the next hour, you walk around the apartment, cleaning small messes then returning to them again, cleaning nothing as the time ticks by, both Rose and Kanaya’s assumptions about what the evening will entail making you nervous. The knock on your door at eight on the dot makes you jump, and you run over, slip on a pair of yellow converse and open the door to Dave.

He looks nervous as you hold the door open, standing there in dark jeans, his favorite faded red tee, and a nice black jacket. “Hey,” is all he says, and you take a breath, smiling at him as you greet him in turn. “Ready?” You nod, grab your light brown jacket and slip it on as you lock the door, then walk side by side with him down the stairs.

“So,” you say, skipping down a few steps and jumping off a couple from the bottom, “what are the plans for the evening?”

He smiles as he walks up to you, and you both begin your journey down the sidewalk, you blindly following him. “No, no, no,” he says, putting his hands into his pockets, “this is all a surprise and it’s all on me so I hope you didn’t bring your wallet, princess.”

You mouth twists at the use of “princess,” and you knock your shoulder against his. “Hey!” He just laughs openly, and your chest gets light at the rare sound.

Things between you both revert back to normal then, feet crunching on the snow as you walk down the sidewalk. Warm lights are pooling out of the shops as you pass them and highlighting your path as you walk to your mystery destination. Other groups are out as well, hanging by certain shops or laughing with each other as they travel.

Dave opens the door for you once you reach your first stop, and you laugh as he makes a sweeping bow as you walk in. The bell dings as the door closes behind you both, and the old styled diner isn’t too full at the moment. Dave nods over to an empty booth by the window, and you run over and grab it as he walks up to the counter. He talks with the girl behind the counter, gesturing up at the menu board, and you look away, instead inspecting the restaurant. The large jukebox is the center piece of the diner, and it plays old Elvis music over the conversations of the patrons. The red booths and old styled chairs and Cola posters make you smile, and Dave is back at the table in minutes, card in his hand.

“Why haven’t we come here before?” you ask, smiling, leaning over the table as your forearms hold you up.

“Because I would just always follow you to the café. I’ve actually been here a few times already, but you wouldn’t know about that now would you, Mr. Nine to Five.”

“Shut up, those aren’t my hours,” you laugh, and smack at his arm. You’ve missed this lame banter with Dave so much, and you are so happy that you get to spend your birthday together. As friends. Bros. Nothing weird or whatever. Stupid Rose. Stupid Kanaya.

“You okay?” Dave asks after gesturing to a waitress who has your order.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” You know he’s giving you a look from behind his shades, but he doesn’t push it any further, and instead goes for his food. He uses his straw to pick up some whipped cream off of his large strawberry milkshake, and licks it clean as he dips a fry in the blended ice cream. You follow his lead, taking a fry off of the plate in the center of the table, and dip it into your own chocolate shake, savoring the taste of the potato/ice cream combination as you chew it slowly.

“So what’s next?” you ask, mouth full of food.

“Yo, what did I tell you? It’s a surprise, man. Stop asking.”

You shake in your chair with excitement. “C’mon Dave! Give me a hint!”

“You don’t know what a surprise is, do you, you spoiled brat?”

“Hey! I’m not a brat!”

You both stay at the diner until your food is gone. Dave had given you a few quarters to pick a song on the jukebox, and you sang along to Grease songs until Dave refused to give you any more quarters.

Your next destination is a movie of your choice, and you both laugh about Evil Dead as you watch it in the theater and walk down the sidewalk after it ends. You talk about it as you approach your next destination, and you’re too into the conversation to realize where you’ve stopped.

The park is so beautiful at night, you’ve come to find. With the lamps lighting the paths and the snow almost glowing with the light it reflects from the large moon in the sky. The snow is untouched as it covers the expanse of the park, and your pairs of footprints are the only ones that disturb the white blanket as you walk over to the swings. Dave doesn’t follow you, however, and you watch him as he walks over to one of the benches by the bushes. You sit down on one of the swings, and wait patiently for him to come back over.

 

You feel John’s eyes on your back as you walk over to the bench where you had hid a few beers earlier. It wasn’t enough to get you wasted, especially because you would be distributing them, but it was John’s birthday and therefore a special occasion. He doesn’t look angry or anything when you approach him with the alcohol in hand, just curious. “Beer?”

“What, don’t know it when you see it? Didn’t think you were that sheltered, Egbert.”

“I wasn’t sheltered!” he says as you take the swing next to him, handing him a bottle that he accepts without question. “And I’ve had alcohol before, you ass. My dad would give me some on holidays.”

“Whoa, hardcore,” you laugh, and he kicks at your foot as he goes to open his bottle. You laugh again as he tries to twist it, and you hand him the bottle opener on your keychain after you open your own, taking a swig.

He watches you as he takes his first sip, and you’re smiling at his hesitance. “Dude, don’t drink it if you don’t want to. I’m not some asshole trying to get you wasted to then later on have my filthy way with before leaving you in a seedy motel. Not my style.”

He laughs at that, taking a small drink and kicking at your foot again. He starts swinging, attempting to hold the chain in his hand around the beer bottle. After some fumbling and a near spill, he relents and puts it on the ground after taking a quick sip. He’s then able to kick himself higher, and he’s smiling and laughing as he pumps his legs, jacket flapping and hair rustling in the breeze. “I remember when I was little, my dad would take me to the park and push me on the swings,” he says, and the volume of his voice changes as he swings past you, back and forth back and forth. “I’ve always loved them. And if I closed my eyes, I could pretend that I was flying, because what kid _didn’t_ want to fly, right? Except, I still wish it was possible.”

You’re entranced by him, watching his clothes rustle, watching his expressions, watching his lips move with his words, listening to his voice that you love so much; its dorky, slightly nasally tone relaxing you. You’re smiling at him like a dope, you’re sure, but he doesn’t see it as he continues talking.

“If I could just jump off the ground and fly away, I would,” and the words hurt you, cut into your chest in a way that you hate, and the smile falls from your lips as you take a long swig of your beer. “Just, pchoo! Off into the horizon,” and his head tilts up to examine the stars with such a loving emotion on his face that you want nothing more than to be directed at you instead. “There’s just so much shit to worry about,” he continues, “school, jobs, money, adulthood, family, _life._ ” He gets quiet for a moment. “I just don’t want to worry about it anymore. So much stress to do well and the ever-present possibility of failure looming over your head like a dark cloud. If Neverland was a real place, I would have been there yesterday.”

You want to kiss him in that moment. Just grab him and hold him tight and kiss him profusely. “But I wouldn’t want to do it alone,” he says, turning to you, “maybe you could come too, if you think you could handle it, cool kid.” The smile on his face is so soft and pure and you want to hug him close, pepper lingering kisses along it and comb your fingers through his hair, because if he held his hand out for you to take, you would grasp it in a heartbeat, no questions asked, because you would follow him blindly into anything.

He slows himself, then picks his beer up again, taking a long swig as he swings idly. You follow his lead, and it’s quiet up until he asks if you have another, which you hand to him after opening it. The silence is comfortable between you both, and John finishes his second beer as you get halfway through your own. He asks if he could have some, because you didn’t bring any more, and you hesitantly hand it over to him, watching as he takes a large swig. “You okay there, John?”

He nods, sniffles a bit from the cold and wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He doesn’t hand you your beer back.

By the time the bottle is empty, his eyes are drooping, and you know it’s time to head home. “C’mon John,” you say, getting up and walking over to him, lifting him off the swing and standing him up. He leans into you, arms hanging by his sides as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Your face heats up as he sighs, and you wrap your arm around his waist so you can help him back to the apartment. “Who would’ve known you were such a lightweight?”

“’M not a lightweight,” he mumbles against your shoulder, “just tired.”

“Yeah, a tired drunk,” and you feel really bad about bringing out the alcohol.

“Daaave,” he says, “that’s your guilty voice I hear.” And his hand comes up to poke at your cheek a few times. “Don’t be sad, Dave. I’m 19 now, I can make my own choices.”

“You’re not legal, John.”

“Sooooo?” he sighs against you, “’s not like I’ve never had a drink before.”

The walk home takes longer than you would like it to, and the stairs up to John’s apartment are a hassle, but you do get him home safely. He opens his door, but doesn’t go inside, and instead turns to look at you. The warm glow from the nearby wall lamp casts a light over the both of you, but does a nice job of highlighting John’s sleepy, happy smile. “Thanks, Dave. I had a lot of fun tonight.  Best birthday.”

You try to swallow around the lump in your throat, but find it difficult as your heart hammers in your chest.  John’s face is flushed, and he’s still smiling brightly at you, eyes drooping. He doesn’t make any move to go inside, and you can’t help but keep staring at the light grin on his lips.

It’s too hot out here. Or maybe that’s you. It’s probably you. You don’t even realize that you’re inching closer to him until the smile on his lips is no longer present and his head tilts down slightly. You’re a breath away from him, and your eyes are closing, and he makes no move to stop you as you finally close the distance.

You’re soaring. Your head is so light and your chest twisting, but the feeling of his lips pressed against yours is one of the best feelings you’ve ever experienced in your 19 years of life. You breathe out through your nose, and your lips move to capture his once again. His own twitch against yours, but other than that there’s no response, and you pull back like you’ve been burned, realization about what you’ve just done crashing down upon you like God dropped a freight train from the heavens. Your eyes are wide, chest beginning to heave as you breathe nervously, and you stare at him. His eyes are closed, and his head is tilted toward you, his lips still in a slight pucker.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, oh god oh god,” and you bolt into your own apartment before John comes back to his senses, realizes you took advantage of him, and you don’t want to be there when he comes to the understanding about what that kiss would entail.

Your name is Dave Strider.

And you just fucked up the best thing that ever happened to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit is finally happening and its depressing, isnt it


	19. What to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up the next morning with a terrible hangover and is at a loss for what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for the wait!! and im also really sorry for the short chapter! but it was a good place to end it for now

He’s-he’s kissing you, you think. Because although things are a little more hazy than you would like to admit, Dave is definitely invading your personal bubble. Well, more than he does normally. And there’s this soft, warm sensation on your lips. Through your slightly parted eyes, you can see how the neighboring light is hitting against his own, and you can easily see that they’re closed; blond lashes pressing against his freckle-dusted cheeks. His eyebrows are knitted, and you want to bring up your thumb and rub it away. Don’t be sad, Dave. Dave should never be sad.

He breathes out through his nose and shifts against you, still- yep he’s kissing you. Your alcohol-consumed mind is foggy, and you easily come to the realization that this feels nice. Really nice. You like kissing, especially when it’s soft like this, but the fact that it’s Dave kissing you sends off warning explosions. Or maybe those are fireworks like they say in movies. Rockets? It’s something. . .

You’re relaxed at least, and your eyes droop closed as his lips still press against your own. They twitch in what you think might be reciprocation, but you’re too tired to do much more than that. After a moment, you slowly come to the realization that the warm softness is gone. You think you hear some hurried muttering, but your eyelids are so heavy you can’t open them to see. Maybe if you stay like this that nice feeling will come back, so you stand there how you were and wait, drunk and half asleep.

Except that nice feeling never comes back, and slowly you crack your eyes open, to see nothing more than an empty porch and the iron banister that leads down the horizontal stairs. A wave of confusion washes over you, and your heart feels heavy in your chest as you look around to find no one other than yourself.

“Dave?”

 

You don’t remember getting here, but you wake up in your bed the next morning, wrapped up tightly in your blankets and head pounding something fierce. Your stomach doesn’t feel too great either, and you begrudgingly get up to take some pain killers and drink some water. After stumbling through your apartment, grabbing what you need, you head back to your room and close the blinds, shuffle out of your jeans and shirt, and get comfortable on your bed again.

You take your pills and drink half of your glass of water before pulling out your laptop to watch some movies. The events of last night are cloudy after you got to the park, and you’re having trouble deciphering what was a dream and what was reality. But you don’t dwell on it for the moment, and instead focus on the screen of your laptop, making sure to turn down the brightness first. You just start the movie that’s already in the player, and it’s one of your favorites. You’ll probably be watching Moonstruck on repeat until you fall asleep again.

The real and/or possibly fabricated memories of the night prior swim around in your brain as you sink back into your pillows. Dave is in all of them. Dave and you on the swings. Dave and you drinking. Dave carrying you back home. Dave kissing you-

Your eyes snap open. No he- that can’t be right, he didn’t- he _wouldn’t_ -

Tentatively you bring your fingers up to your lips and touch them softly. The sensation brings back your final thoughts from last light. He did he- Dave kissed you. Your stomach twists and you scramble out of your bed, just in time to make it to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stay there for a moment, head throbbing as your fingers grip at the porcelain. Dave was right, you really are a lightweight.

Dave.

Oh man, Dave. He left so quickly and. . . He was nervous and. . . You sigh as you fall back onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor, too tired to get back up and go to your room. Lazily, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with a towel and grimace at the taste in your mouth. Now what do you do? Tell Dave how you feel? Honestly, you’re not even quite sure yourself.

Do you. . . really like him like that? Would you, could you see yourself. . . doing those kinds of things with him. Dates? Kissing? . . . Sex.

You scramble back up and heave into the toilet again, coughing and sputtering as you let out the last of it. Your face is hot and your eyes burn with the threat of tears. You do like Dave, a lot, more than most things but. . . Does that mean that you should pursue a relationship with him?

You grimace, wiping at your eyes. Why is everything so _confusing?_ You thought you already had this dumb inner monologue but nothing has changed. You’re having an inner battle and your scared. You liked the kiss, you did but, what does that make you? Does it change anything? You know you have to talk to Dave but what do you even say? You slide back down to the tile, resting your forehead against the cool floor beneath you. You hate this, feeling this way.

After a few more minutes spent sniveling on the floor, you wash up and head back into your room, hiding yourself under your covers from the outside world. The movie is still playing, and it’s the only sound you hear.

You feel like a child. A stupid brat. You hate it, and you hate yourself even more for only thinking about you. What about Dave? What if this is how he feels? Has been feeling? Is feeling right now. Blindly, you reach out for your phone. You need to talk to him. You need to say something. He thinks he fucked up, you know he does, you have to at least put his mind at rest. The harsh light of your phone screen makes you wince, and you turn down the brightness, still squinting as you load pesterchum.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:55 --

EB: dave.   
EB: dave answer me.   
EB: i hope you’re not doing your avoidance thing.   
EB: dave.   
EB: please, we need to talk.   
EB: dave!

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 11:10 –-

You nervously bite at your abused bottom lip as you try to text him instead.

JOHN : dave stop being stupid!   
JOHN : please talk to me!   
JOHN : i'm not mad i'm just. . .   
JOHN : dave please.

 

“Rose, please!”

Your sister opens the door to her apartment with a flourish and a glare on her face. She’s still dressed in her pajamas and you see Kanaya peeking her head out from the hall. “Dave, I have a night class today, what do you want?”

“To let me in. Please, Rose, I had a bad night. Take pity on your poor brother.” You’re too tired to try and puppy-eye her into it, and instead you just slouch into your stance. She sighs, opening the door for you and moving out of the way. You saunter over to her couch and fall into the plush cushions, burying your face in a soft pillow and curling into yourself. You feel the couch sink at your feet, and you know Rose is about to interrogate you.

“What did you do this time?”

“I fucked up, Rose. I fucked up bad.”

She leans over you and slides off your shades, then folds them neatly and puts them on the coffee table. Her hand is back in a second, and her thumb ghosts over the purple bags under your eyes. “I’m guessing it has to do with your lack of sleep?”

“I kissed him.”

“Well good, I’m glad one of you finally did it.”

You shift over to glare at her, but she just smiles at you in that way that she does and puts her hands in her lap.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Dave, it is so obvious to everyone but John and yourself about how you both feel. So why are you hiding from him?”

“I’m not hiding from him.”

Rose just continues to stare you down and you squirm under her knowing gaze. She’s right, you are avoiding him, but you’re terrified of what he might say to you. The best is that he doesn’t hate you for what you did and how you feel. The worst is that you lose him.

“Just, don’t tell him I’m here, Rose.”

Her smile softens and she rubs at your shoulder before she stands. She comes back a moment later with a soft blanket and tosses it over you, leans down and kisses your forehead before walking back to her room. “Just get some sleep, Dave. We’ll talk more later.”

You know she’s going to grill you when she gets back from her class and you’re not looking forward to it, but she’s letting you stay here and avoid John like the stupid kid you are. It won’t last for long, but you’re going to take advantage of it for as long as she’ll let you. You sigh back into the little pillow and pull the blanket up to your chin. You were tired and nervous, and you feel your phone digging into your pocket, but you don’t reach for it, don’t turn it back on. You’re scared about what you might find there.

So instead, you sleep, and dream of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the next chapter wont take so long to get up


	20. Baby, I can’t fight this feeling anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes his decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 parter!! but chapter 21 isnt done yet ehehe im working on it hopefully it will be up tomorrow i want to watch you all squirm. just work with me here ok we've only got a few chapters left and i want to have fun

It’s been almost a month since you’ve seen Dave.

Well, spare that fleeting moment where you saw him sprint out of the complex.

Your texts to him have been dwindling, due to you never receiving an answer.

You’ve been moping.

But, especially lonely.

You’re reminded, as you sit in the darkness of your living room, of the last time Dave had pushed you away.

You find, for the third week in a row as you sit by yourself watching old movies, that you miss Dave. Very much. Probably more than you should.

You miss his company. You miss the banter, his sense of humor, the way he would smirk and quirk his eyebrow when he was teasing you. You miss his presence. You miss his messy yet perfect blond hair. You miss his douchey shades and his lame jokes and his hidden southern drawl, however tiny it may be. You miss his voice, his laugh, his smile. You miss Dave.

Over the past month, you have come to the conclusion that you might like Dave more than any best friend should.

And you’re still a little scared about that fact.

You continue to stare mindlessly at your television, watching the actors move across the screen but not processing the colors and sounds as you sit there  on your couch. Your days had been longer and more tiring without the promise of at least pestering Dave at the end of the day. Your job at the café was an escape for a while, but soon you were reminded of Dave there as well, missing his presence everywhere you went.

On one of your many lonely evenings, you had stopped by the retro diner Dave had taken you to on your birthday. _“I’ve actually been here a few times already, but you wouldn’t know about that now would you, Mr. Nine to Five,”_ rang subconsciously in your head as you picked at your plate of fries, hoping maybe he would magically walk through the doors.

You busied yourself with class work now that your first full year of college would be coming to a close. Studying had taken a lot out of you in and of itself, and many a sleepless night would leave you semi-delirious and thinking heavily about Dave.

Dave.

You look down at your cell phone clutched tightly between your hands. You’ve sent countless texts to Dave, completely forgoing Pesterchum. He’s yet to respond to either, and you’ve just accepted that you won’t be receiving any response from him for a while. Your heart sinks further(if that’s possible) in your chest, and you sigh for the millionth time as you slouch down into the cushions of your couch.

You miss him so much. Jade had provided as much company as she could, but she was in clubs and had her other friends and you didn’t want to keep her all to yourself. Karkat was another option, and he had taken pity on you, in that weird way that Karkat is known to do. Berating you but still actively caring. Rose’s conversations with you had been short, and you still had yet to talk to her about this whole mess.

You were still as scared as day one, and maybe only slightly less confused. You liked Dave, you did. So much. But, do you want to date him? Do you want to change your present relationship into a. . . physical one? Would you want that? Does it even have to come to that? The idea leaves your mind spinning. Honestly, if you sat down and thought hard about it, you could see yourself with Dave in at least a romantic sense. You two were already those awkward friends, you think. But, sex? The idea still made you nervous. Probably because you haven’t been in many serious relationships before.

You fall over onto your side in a heap of blankets, and you burrow yourself underneath the heavy fabric and wrap your arms around your knees. You just want Dave back, in any way that would entail. You miss your best friend.

The night of your birthday still clouded your mind. Specifically, Dave’s kiss. Although your memory is foggy, you did really like it. It reminded you of the dream that started it all. It was sweet and calming and if you had been more awake and slightly more intoxicated you probably would have melted right into him. Had you been less intoxicated however, you aren’t sure what you would have done.

Would you have pushed him away? Would you have kissed back? What if you did? Well, you don’t really know what to think. You could still be just as confused, just plus one Dave Strider.

You sniffle, burying your face into your knees, holding back a sob. You’re a mess. You’re a mess over Dave Strider, and you still don’t know how you feel about that.

 

Four days later, you have a Dream again.

It was only a matter of time before this happened, you think, but the shock was still all the same.

There was hushed giggling and you had a hand grasped in your own, leading someone. You were in a bathroom, you think, being pushed into a large stall. The presence with you seemed female; a fact that just seemed correct. Her hair was blonde and soft and it fell over her eyes as she leaned in close to you, all smiles and hushed laughs as she kisses you.

It’s rushed and needy and her grip on your shoulders is strong as she leans into you. You flick your tongue teasingly against her lips, and she gasps, moving instead to lick and nip at your neck. Her hands move from their place on your shoulders and slip down your back, groping at you as she leans against you, and you gasp as well.

She’s taller than you, but only just; a fact you’re suddenly aware of, and her short hair tickles at your cheek as she bites at the base of your neck. She’s rubbing circles against your hips with her thumbs and you revel in it.

Reciprocating, you move your hands from their idle place around her waist down to her hips as well, but push up her shirt a little and rub at the base of her spine. Her moan is low and much less feminine, but for some strange reason, exactly what you were expecting.

She licks and kisses her way back up your neck and nibbles on your earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from yourself and you grab her tighter, hold her closer as your hands roam freely.

“John,” she sighs, and the voice is low and familiar.

_“John,”_ she sighs again, nose nuzzling at your jaw line.

It’s when your hand gropes at the front of her jeans that she pulls back, and you can clearly see the person in front of you for the first time. Short blond hair, pale skin, those long lashes and freckle dusted cheeks tinged a beautiful red and you both gasp as your fingers  brush over the tent in his jeans.

_“John.”_

 

You wake with a start, face in your pillow and hard on in your boxers. You cry out into the plush fabric of your pillow in frustration, uncomfortably rubbing your lower half against the mattress as you shift. You breathe shakily at the feeling and will yourself not to do it again. After the one time, the second, third.

Your hands sneak up under the pillow and grasp it as you continue to rut against your bed like a young teenager. Your breaths are airy and soft and they catch in your throat every few thrusts. You don’t even attempt to stop yourself from imagining the Dave from your dream, and before you know it your hips are stuttering as you fall over the edge, stilling and silently gasping into your pillow, imagining his blond hair tickling at your jaw again.

You lay there for a while, mind numb, and hating yourself.

 

You wake the next morning determined to sort everything out.

You pull yourself together; wash up, shave, clean clothes, the works. “Wish me luck, Casey,” you tell your tiny friend before you head out the door. You are going to talk to Rose, and you are going to do it face to face, like the mature adult you are. And you are going to sort out your problems and find Dave and tell him how you feel.

However it is that you feel.

 

“Dave.”

You don’t answer, and instead choose hide yourself further into your blankets.

“Dave, I’ve had it.”

“I haven’t,” you mumble from behind thick fabric.

“Dave, it’s been a _month_ now. I can’t believe I’ve let you stay this long. Let alone let Kanaya fret over you.”

You don’t answer her.

“Dave, you need to go home.”

You knew it was coming. Hell, you were surprised Rose had let you stay for as long as she did, but you never questioned it. Avoiding the question keeps it from coming up. Just like avoiding John keeps you from talking to him.

After a stretch of silence, Rose moves around the couch and sits next to you, taking the remote out of your hands. “You can’t just sit around all day watching Supernatural, Dave.”

“I go to class.”

Your sister sighs and looks down at the remote on her lap. After another long stretch of silence she says, “You need to talk to John.”

You knew that was coming, too.

“Dave. Just. . . talk to him. Things aren’t as hopeless as you seem to think they are. I’m not a psychic, so I can’t tell you what he’ll say, but Dave, he would never hate you.”

You both stay quiet for a while, watching but not processing the moving images on the screen in front of you. “I have a class soon,” Rose says softy, “and I hate the way this sounds but, I want you gone before I get back.” You don’t say anything. “It’s for your own good, Dave.”

Her attempt at reassurance doesn’t do much, and you feel cold and lonely when she gets up to go back into her room to change.

You leave without a word an hour before she needs to get to class. Your iPhone plays music into your ears as you head down the elevator and out onto the street. Everything passes by in a blur. The people out on the street are a mob, the buildings towering over you as you keep your head down and continue your long trek down the sidewalk.

The old woman is out feeding birds once you get back to your own complex, and you completely ignore her, making a large beeline around the twittering animals instead as you make your way over to the stairs. You take them two at a time, and hesitate outside your front door.

You turn to John’s and tune out the conflicting voices in your head telling you what to do. With your last burst of adrenaline, you push yourself and knock on his door instead. Your raps are short and quick, and you stand there for no more than ten seconds before you’re even more angry with yourself and running back into your own apartment to hide like the coward you are.

 

You take the bus to Rose’s place like usual. The streets were crowded anyway and this was just much faster. You almost run face first into someone too entranced in their music to watch where they’re going as you catch the elevator before the doors close. You know Rose has a class soon, but you’ll try to make this as quick as possible.

“Rose?” You call as you knock on her apartment door. It doesn’t take too long for her to answer, and when she does she’s surprised.

“John?” she questions, holding the door open for you as you step inside.

You go directly for her couch where a blanket is balled up by the armrest. The cushions are slightly warm as you sit on them, and you wonder if Rose had just been lying down. “I. . . I’m ready. . . to talk. . .”

She glances down at her watch quickly, checking to see if she’ll have the time. Her lips form a tight line and she looks over to you, contemplating. It doesn’t take her long to make her decision, and when she does she walks over to you and sits by your side, waiting.

“I. . . I miss him a lot. He’s all I fucking think about anymore, Rose. . . What do I do?”

She sighs, looking down at her hands in her lap. “The same thing I told Dave. You two need to talk. You both need to stop beating around the bush. John, I know you’re scared and confused, but all things pass, and Dave is scared too,” your chest pangs. “It’s not as hard as you think, John. And Dave needs to hear what you have to say.”

“. . . But how can I talk to him when I don’t even know what it is I want to say?”

Rose quiets at that.

“I like him, Rose. I do, a lot, but- what does that make me? Will I change?”

“John,” she says, turning to look at you and resting a hand comfortingly against your shoulder. “You are who you choose to be. I can’t tell you what to feel just like I can’t tell you what to say. That’s something you need to figure out for yourself.”

You groan into your hands. _But I can’t do it alone._

 

You leave Rose’s apartment 15 minutes later feeling no different. You don’t even wait for the bus, just keep walking down the street in a fog. Thinking. About? Lots of things. . . Important things. Like Dave’s smile. And Dave’s laugh. The warmth of Dave’s body against your own when he falls asleep on you. The way Dave’s arms flex around you when he hugs you. Dave’s big stupid sunglasses and those eyes he’s never let you see. You just figured they were the same rare color as Rose’s. A light blue that seemed almost purple. They couldn’t be purple though, eyes don’t work like that.

You bet Dave’s eyes are gorgeous.

Your head is still swimming with nothing but DAVE as you walk back solemnly into your apartment complex. You don’t even notice the woman on the bench until the birds are scattering and fluttering around you.

“John, dear!” you hear, and it snaps you out of your haze. You turn to find Mrs. Neil sitting on her usual bench, a few slices of molding bread in her hands for the birds. Her expression changes from one of content to confusion as she looks at you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You hesitate a moment before deciding to take the empty space next to her on the bench. How do you tell someone that you think you’re in love with your very male best friend. “I think I’m in love with my best friend.” Well there’s always that.

“The blond fellow?” She asks curiously, and your face heats.

“Geez, Mrs. Neil, is it really that obvious?” you laugh anxiously.

“No, no, don’t worry John. You two just always look so happy when I see you together. I’m sure he doesn’t know how you feel, if that’s what you’re worried about?”

Actually, you wish it were the opposite.

“Mrs. Neil?”

“Yes, dear?”

You wait a moment, trying to put your words together. “How do I tell him?”

She hesitates, her hands stilling mid-rip. They fall to her lap and she turns to you, smiling softly. “Just do it, dear. Outright. It will be much easier that way, you’ll see.”

“But,” you say looking down at the small birds at your feet. “I’m not even quite sure how I feel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. . . he’s a guy. I’ve never thought about being anything other than straight. I’m scared.”

“John, honey,” she smiles, and hands you a small piece of bread to feed to the animals pecking at your shoes. “You fall for the person, not their body.”

She was right.

You’ve been so hung up about Dave’s gender that you completely looked past. . . Dave.

Dave. Your dorky best friend who cried over Princess Bride and ate all of your food. Dave, the blond asshole who picked fun at you and retaliated twice as hard when you shot back. Dave, the cuddly bastard who clung to you in his sleep and bruised your side with his shades. The sweet guy that was always there for you no matter what.

“Thank you, Mrs. Neil,” you say, jumping off the bench and running back out of the complex once again.

You are John Egbert.

And you are going to tell Dave Strider exactly how you feel about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you spot the iron giant reference(quote)


	21. I won't go home without you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "wont go home without you" by maroon 5 i feel really relates to this story quite well
> 
> also, if you could listen to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0-p0bOqs9k/) song while you read the chapter that would be great :) i guess you dont have to but i feel it helps with the mood
> 
> i combined the next chapter into this one, so the next will be the last! thank you guys for sticking with me for this fic! ive had so much fun and i appreciate all of your comments :') i hope you enjoy the chapter

The storm is wicked as is blows around you, wind pushing up your jacket and rain falling hard on your shoulders. You continue to clutch tightly to the bag in your hands. This will be worth it soon.

By the time you had gotten to the nearby Chinese restaurant, the dark and heavy clouds had finally released their hold on the rain that had been accumulating for the past few weeks. The rain itself was very much needed, and you loved storms yourself, but walking around in them was another story completely. The lightning flashing and illuminating the sky was scaring you, and your jog turned more into a run as your complex came back into view.

Signs that read “Broken Generator” are taped to doors as you make your way hurriedly past them, and the complex is dark and intimidating. Thunder rumbles loud over your head as you run up the stairs, and you’re afraid it masks your knocks on the blurry door in front of you. Your glasses are covered in small rain droplets, and you’re shivering as you pound against the wood harshly.

The door opens as you go to knock again, and your breath is knocked out of you as the lightning flashes again, preceding a loud bang of thunder. Dave stands before you, stock still and staring from behind his dark aviators. And you’re hit. Pushed over the edge as your heart hammers in your chest. You’ve definitely fallen for your best friend. You’ve fallen hard.

Shaking from both the cold and your nerves, you hold up the small bag of Chinese food, smiling timidly. You want to say something stupid like, _peace offering?_ Or better yet, grab him and pull him into you and never let him go. But instead remain silent and trembling.

You see his lips move to form words, but it’s nothing more than a soft sound behind the harsh rain and constant thunder. But he steps aside and looks down and away from you, finding the carpet much more interesting. Once you’re in, he closes the door behind you with more care than usual, and it gets substantially easier to hear once the barrier is closed between you and the outdoors.

“It’s um, sweet and sour chicken,” you tell him, reaching into the bag and pulling out the plastic container. “I’ve got my dumb peanut thing so. . . Well, with the power out and all I thought you might be hungry for something warm. . .”

You look up to find him still standing by the door. He’s nervous; small and fragile. So different from the Dave you’ve come to know. Your movements are calculated and hesitant as you continue to try to reach out to him. You laugh awkwardly, not doing too great a job of breaking that wall between you both. Fingers clutching nervously around the cheap plastic container, you go to move to the futon, sitting down and waiting for Dave to make a move. You see his thumb dig into his opposite palm as he still stands at the threshold; a thing you know that means he’s trying to will himself to do something.

You divert your attention to the food instead, taking off your soaked jacket and setting the container out on his coffee table so he doesn’t feel pressured. You leave the lid closed to keep it as warm as possible, but remove the chopsticks from the bag as well as the small, greasy bag of chips they give you. You continue busying yourself with the food, removing the sauce packets, and begin arranging them as you wait silently. It’s all worth it though, when you feel the futon sink in slowly as Dave seats himself next to you. He doesn’t touch the food.

You both stay quiet for what feels like a while, but was probably only a few minutes. The storm however, is still harsh and unforgiving as it pounds against the glass of Dave’s apartment windows, the bright flashes being your only source of light in the very dark room. The thunder sends vibrations throughout your body, and you can hear the silverware clink against each other softly in the drawers in the kitchen. Dave continues to avoid your gaze, and instead fiddles with his fingers as his hands tense in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and he hunches further into his shoulders. “Wait, no I mean- I should have told you sooner.” His fingers dig into his palms and shit he’s taking this the wrong way, God you fucking suck. You decide to take a different route. “I missed you.”

You don’t know if that was the best phrase to try and remedy your previous statements, but it’s a start. He’s biting the inside of his lip, and he still refuses to look at you, but his nails have stopped digging into his skin, so you’ll take that as progress, you guess. This is so unlike the Dave you know, and your chest pangs due to the fact that you’re one of the main reasons he’s so different. He still remains quiet, and so you keep talking.

You release a soft laugh, “I can’t believe how stupid I am. . . I’ve made it so much more difficult than it needed to be.”

“You didn’t do anything.”               

His voice surprises you, small and soft, and you wait to see if he’ll continue.

“It was me, I fucked up. I-. . . just forget it happened, okay. I don’t want things to be weird, I- I’ll stop, I-. . . we’ll just be friends. . .”

His voice is just a whisper by the end of his sentence, and your chest tightens. No, no, no. “But. . .” you start, not sure how to continue, “what if. . . I want. . .” you breath deeply, “more than that?”

Now he looks at you. His face is red just like it was in your dream, but his nose is substantially more flushed, and he sniffles a little. The lightning flashes across his face, illuminating him for a brief second before he’s encased in darkness again. You didn’t realize how close you two had been sitting. His lips are red and swollen, something you take in for a moment before you’re back to looking him as close to in the eyes as you can get. You bite your lip nervously and roll it between your teeth as you try to continue.

He’s beautiful, and you’re so frustrated with yourself for just seeing this now. You had always admired his strong yet soft features. His light skin and pale hair and brown freckles over the bridge of his nose. His sharp jaw line, his soft brow, his feathery hair falling over his forehead and swooping over the rim of his shades. You can’t believe how long it took for you to figure out how you truly felt for him. Or maybe you needed that time to understand and bring you to where you are now. But either way, here you are, subconsciously inching closer to him and just mere inches away from finally obtaining what you’ve wanted for a while.

“I’m nervous, but,” and your eyes search the dark plastic of his shades, needing something to ground you, “I do know that. . . I like you. And, I don’t know if that makes me gay or-or what, but. . .” You bite your lip harshly again, right hand hesitantly moving off of your lap and up to Dave’s face. Your fingertips ghost over the side of his cheek before pinching one of the arms of his shades. You hesitate, and he doesn’t stop you or move away, and so slowly, you push them up to perch on top of his head instead.

The wind is knocked out of you at the sight. His eyes are large and round and so very, very _red._ Framed beautifully by his long, blond lashes, he looks up at you, eyes locking with yours for the first time. Your heart has stopped, watching as countless emotions swim in that gorgeous red. You’re entranced, with your hand cupped on his cheek as you stare. They shined like rubies, dark in the center and bright around the rim of the iris. They were flecked with gold; specks in his eyes that glowed like embers and you have fallen hook, line, and sinker.

“Fuck. . .” is all you can manage to say, and you can barely hear yourself.

“ . . . Yeah. . .” he whispers. _Eloquent,_ you think, and in any other situation you probably would have laughed.

But your lips are too busy finally bridging the distance instead.

 

You sigh shakily into him, his lips hot against your own. The tension drains quickly from your body as he leans into you even more, the hand on your cheek sliding back and tangling in the hairs against the back of your neck. You separate only for a millisecond to get in a quick breath, and then you’re moving up, bringing your right knee under yourself to push you up and kiss him back, all of your bottled up feelings pouring from you like a waterfall as your arms wrap around his neck and pull him close to you again. You’re vaguely aware that you’re trembling, and John’s other arm wraps around your waist, grounding you to him.

You breath shakily, your warm breath fanning over his lips. He makes the move again to kiss you, and you follow his lead. You’re scared to mess up again, and so you continue to let him guide you. Any movement you make is cautious, like stepping out onto a frozen lake. But you revel in him, his body against you, his heat radiating and flowing into you, loosening your stiff muscles and you melt against him. You’re vaguely aware of the storm outside, the light flashing throughout the room, but the only thing you’re focused on is _John,_ and everything else around you is unimportant.

He pulls from your lips and places a few kisses at the corner of your mouth, and you nuzzle at the side of his nose before he’s back and looking for your lips again. You happily oblige, kissing him with all the passion you can. You feel overwhelmed. His arms tighten around your waist, one hand coming up to grab at your upper back, and then he’s lifting you. You gasp silently against his lips, then stand with him, back to kissing with fervor.

He’s moving you, but you aren’t aware of the destination until your back is pressed against a wall. His hands are on your hips now, and they hold you close as your arms move as well. One hand tight in his hair and the other grabbing at his shoulder. He knocks his forehead against yours and nuzzles at your nose as he breathes. You kiss at his cheek repeatedly as best as you can, and you can feel him smiling against you. You’re elated, and you think you sob.

His hands are rubbing your sides under your shirt now, and you shiver under his touch. You move your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and you rub at the soft skin there, fingers tangling at the base of his hair. His smile is softer when he kisses you again, and he holds you with it, stilling your movements until you feel his fingers tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You loosen your arms from around his shoulders, lifting them up as he pulls at the fabric and rips it over your head, your shades falling away with it.

He leans his forehead against yours again and looks down at your naked torso. You’re both breathless, and you watch how his shoulders rise and fall. His face is just as flushed as yours, and you would be scared about moving too fast if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve been pining for him for about a year. And you’re just following his lead. You don’t know how far either of you are willing to go, but you guess you’ll find out soon enough. Who knows how long John could’ve been feeling the same about you? _Maybe if you would turn on your damn phone you would know_ , your inner Rose tells you.

Hesitantly, you grasp at his own shirt as well, and this brings his attention back to you. His mouth is open like he wants to say something, but he’s only centimeters away from you, and he’s flushed and panting and decides to just kiss you once again. It’s slow and sweet and you revel in it. You pull each other close again, torsos pressed flush together as he pulls you off the wall and pushes you backwards into the dark hall.

Your back hits your bedroom door, and he nips at your lips as his hand fumbles on the knob. He gets it open quickly enough, and then you’re pushed inside. This time however, it’s you who pushes him back, and he hits the door with a soft thud. He makes no protest, and instead wraps his arms around your neck as your hands ghost down his sides. He smiles as you pull at the fabric of his shirt, and he lifts his arms so you can discard it on the floor. Once his chest is as equally bare as yours, you’re back to kissing him, your hands gripping at his clothed hips and sliding down further until you’re bending slightly, your hands grabbing at the back of his thighs so you can lift him.

His legs wrap around your waist once you’ve got him settled, and then you’re kissing him again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him off of the door. You turn and find the bed, placing him down on his back as you lean over him. His hands are tight in your hair as he holds you against him, but you pull back just enough to look at him. John Egbert, flushed and underneath you, lips swollen and red, eyes lidded. You’re awestruck.

You move his legs from their place around you and rest them on the bed, his feet keeping them bent at your sides. You watch his body move, feel his thighs tense under your touch, watch his toned chest rise and fall with his heavy breaths. The defining outline of his hardening arousal in his jeans. Your own jeans are uncomfortable on your hips, and your hands go to remove them, looking away from his face to unbutton your pants. But you’re not far from him, and his hands move to hold your cheeks softly, kissing your brow and your eyes close. His lips move around, kissing your eyelids and your nose and finally your lips again where he lingers, and your movements slow as he just holds you there. Then finally your hands move from the button of your jeans to cup his face and hold him there as well. You breathe deeply, senses completely overloaded with just _John._

You continue to cup his face as his hands move from your own, slowly trailing down to your jeans, where he unbuttons them himself, pushing them down as far as he can. You pull back to remove them yourself, and you discard them on the ground quickly. Then you lean back over him, hands hesitantly at his own buckle. All he does is smile softly, and slowly you remove him of his jeans as well. When they’re on the floor by your own, you look back down at him. The most beautiful blue eyes stare up at you, half lidded and filled with something you can’t quite place. He’s panting slightly as you look him over, the tinge on his cheeks to his shoulders almost unseen in the dark room. Almost. Now, sans pants, you lean back over him, and his legs move easily as you situate them over your thighs. You don’t even have a snide remark to make about the Slimers on his boxers. It just reminds you even more that this is _John_ and you're kissing _John_ and you couldn’t be any happier than you are in this very moment.

He sighs into you as your lips descend upon his own again, however this time, you feel his tongue tentatively lick at your upper lip, and you gasp. You open up for him eagerly, and hesitantly, his tongue licks at you again before his lips close around yours and he’s teasing at your own tongue in your mouth. You tease back at him, elated, and your elbows rest on either side of his head, hands coming up to play in his hair again. You press your chest down against his own and breathe deeply through your nose, exhaling slowly as you pull back your head a bit to instead nip at his bottom lip.

You move your head down a bit, nuzzling at the base of his jaw before you begin to kiss down his neck. You stop at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, kissing there before lightly licking. He makes a noise above you that eggs you on, and you scrape your teeth against the spot instead before you begin to suck. His gasp is airy and one of the hands on your hips moves up to tangle in your hair, holding you there. You happily oblige.

_“Dave,”_ he sighs, and you had no idea how badly you’ve wanted to hear that.

You kiss at the spot repeatedly, you’re face hot. You’re so hopelessly in love with this kid.

You want to hear more of those sounds, and your eyebrows knit as you kiss over his shoulder. However, it’s John who gets a noise out of you first, when his hips cant up into yours. Your gasp is choked as you rest your forehead onto his shoulder. “J- _John.”_

He gasps again then kisses at the side of your head a few times, trying to get you back to him. You follow his lead again, ghosting your lips over his own before you meet him in the middle. Your tongue slides against his instantly, and you press your lips to his roughly. His hands run over your back, not sure if he wants to grab at your scalp or somewhere lower. In the end, he slides his hands roughly down your back and gropes you from behind, pulling you into him, and you gasp at the feeling of him against you.

His hand reaches lower and under you, and you can feel the ghosting of fingertips against your balls through the cotton of your boxers. Your breath stutters as you rock down against his hand, then back up again against his crotch, and you both moan, John’s head falling back against the pillows. This leaves his neck open for you to move in on, and you do, nipping and sucking around his collar.

“Ahh-h. . .” he sighs, hands tightening around your ass and rubbing up against you. You continue to kiss and nip around his neck. He’s beautiful, so beautiful.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Soon, the rutting isn’t doing much to relieve the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach, and so you move one of your hands down and maneuver under the waistband of your boxers to try and give yourself some relief. Your lip quivers as your fingers brush over your straining arousal, and John catches on instantly. He doesn’t go to help you himself, but one of his hands comes around and rubs low on your inner hip with his thumb, his other hand still groping you. You don’t try to go for his crotch, not sure if that would be pushing the very fragile bounds. You do, however, go to kiss him again, but he catches you first, pushing up into you.

He’s coming undone, you realize, as his kisses become feverish and his hands roam over you. You don’t know how to help him, afraid that if you go to touch him you’ll ruin everything again. He brings one hand to himself, and it’s shaking as he goes to touch himself. “Mmn,” he moans softly, eyes screwing shut and back arching into his touch. “D- _Da-“_ You silence him with a kiss and grind against his hip, attempting to avoid his hand. You hear a low rumble deep in his throat as you do so, and it makes you do it again.

You’ve tried to keep things slow, but both John and yourself are beginning to break away from that. He’s gasping outright, breath hitching in his throat every so often as he cants up into your touch. Both of your hands had moved away from your groins, and instead you reveled in the rough feel of him against you when the part in his boxers would slip and open. Your mouth parted as you gasped softly at every move. You knew you were close, but you wanted John to come first.

His fingers clawed at your back. Not hard enough to leave many marks, but enough to let you know he was nearing his edge. “I-I’m- Haa. . . Clo-ose, ah!”

You loved the noises he made, you loved the way his face scrunched and lips parted as he gasped and panted. The way he writhed beneath you and grabbed at you and rutted against you. You moved to suck at the sensitive spot on his neck again, and he moaned at the sensation of your lips and tongue against him. “Dave!”

Your hips stuttered every time a noise fell from his lips. It left you crazy and needy and you just wanted _more._ You were rolling your hips into his own, trying to make him feel as good as you could make him without skin on skin contact. It seemed to be helping, but not enough. His moans and gasps were increasingly getting higher in pitch and he was _so close_.

_Fuck it,_ you think, before moving your hand to the protrusion in his boxers and touching it _just so_ that it pushes him over the edge, and he comes with a strangled cry of your name, arching against your mattress and stilling. _“Shit,”_ you gasp, pressing your forehead back into his shoulder and rutting down hard against him one last time before you were finished.

You both stayed stone still as you slowly came down from your high, and once the feel-good haze was gone, your fears and anxieties came crashing back against you like harsh waves. You refused to look him in the eye. What if you fucked up again what if you just ruined things what if-

Your hand is still on John’s groin, you realize, as his own hand wraps itself around it. He moves it up to his cheek and places it there, and only then do you look him in the eyes. His gaze is soft and his pupils are only slightly less blown, but they’re bright and shining and the smile on his lips is soft and reassuring. You feel the tension melt from you again, and his arms move to wrap around you, pulling you down and holding you close. He sighs into your hair, and you feel his lips press against your head for a moment before he’s pulling back.

You feel him trying to remove his boxers, and you get nervous. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” he says, sounding slightly more collected than you do, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to sleep in gross boxers. I also don’t want to let you up to get new ones,” and you feel him tugging at your underwear as well.

“Well damn, Egbert. If you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask.” The words are out before you can stop them, the word ‘Naked’ solidifying what you two had just done.

He doesn’t get embarrassed though, and instead laughs that dorky giggle of his and you smile back. “Seriously though,” he says, moving up enough to get his boxers off of his hips. You look away as he cleans himself. “So modest,” he tells you.

You follow his lead, and clean yourself up as well as John slips under your blankets. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you look back at him over your shoulder. He’s on his side, hands up by the pillow and smiling at you, his glasses now on the bedside table. Questions swim in your mind, but you’re too tired to ask them. Instead you turn and worm yourself under the blankets as well, but stay about a foot away from John, head resting on the other pillow.

You just kind of stare for a while, examining his features. “They’re not weird, you know,” he says, breaking the silence.

“What aren’t?”

“Your eyes,” he says, like it’s obvious. His smile broadens when you look away. “No, no, no. C’mon, they’re really cool! I’ve never seen anything like them.”

You want to tell him how much you disagree, but don’t want to ruin the mood. So instead, you stay quiet and look at John’s nimble fingers resting against the bed to distract yourself. After a moment, he bites his lip and scoots closer to you hesitantly. You meet his eyes, and then they’re gone as he tucks his head under your chin, arms slowly wrapping around your waist.

You reciprocate the embrace and tilt your head to press your lips to the top of his head, kissing him softly. Because you can. “Is this. . .” you whisper, “okay?”

He’s quiet, but his response doesn’t come too late. He pulls back to look at you when he speaks. “Dave. . . I like you. . . so much. I’m sorry that I was such a child about the whole thing. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But, I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving.” He punctuates this with a shy smile, and then he’s back to pressing under your chin, nuzzling at your chest as he gets comfortable.

“. . . John?”

“Hm?”

_I love you. . ._ “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dave.”

 

When you wake the next morning, you feel warm and the sun is shining in through your window, giving your room a golden glow. You smile into your pillow; a big dorky smile as you still smell John there. You fan your arm out, feeling for him. . . and come back with nothing.

You sit up with a start, squinting as you look around for him. He’s gone. Your throat tightens and you find it difficult to breathe, head spinning around as you look for any sign of him. You don’t see his jeans, and both of your boxers are missing. Your chest hurts and your stomach twists and you jump from the bed, not caring that your bare ass is out for the world to see.

You flash-step out into the living room where you freeze. There he is, John Egbert, clad in nothing but a pair of your sweatpants and a frilly pink apron as he stands in the kitchen. He turns to look at you, the sound surprising him. The smile on his face drops instantly once he sees you, breathing heavy and looking terrified.

“What happened?” He asks, putting down the bowl and whisk he was holding.

“I-. . . I thought-” _You left._

Realization washes over him and he looks apologetic. But now you feel stupid. You worried him. Stupid, stupid.

He moves around the bar table and walks over to you quickly. He puts his hands on your bare hips and kisses you quickly. He pulls back, looking at you for a bit before he kisses you once more, and it’s longer and sweeter. You exhale out through your nose as you press your lips against his in return. He laughs when he pulls back, and moves his hands to his back, untying the apron. “You should probably put some pants on,” he tells you, wrapping the pink fabric around your waist and over your head. You smile at the gesture, wanting to say something snarky back, but can’t quite find it in yourself to do so.

“C’mon,” he says, smiling and patting your hip. “I’m making omelets with bacon bits.”

He turns away from you and walks back into the kitchen. You follow his steps with your gaze before you follow after him like a lost puppy, then take a seat at the bar. “Sorry for flipping out,” you say softly, and it’s so unlike you and you hate it but you’re just _scared._

“Don’t apologize,” he tells you with a soft smile, and pushes a glass of apple juice your way.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel comfortable again. “You don’t have to keep cooking for me. I am very easy to please. You could’ve just got out two bowls of milk and the Oreo pack and I would have been great.”

He laughs, pouring the scrambled eggs into a warm pan. “Well, I like to cook! So get used to it, cool kid.”

You chuckle and rise from your chair to refill your glass. When you open the fridge, the first thing you see is the full container of Chinese chicken and you blush. “Sorry about wasting your money on chicken we never ate.”

His laugh is short and embarrassed. “It’s not like you don’t already have enough of it, anyway.”

You look over to him, then close the door before walking up behind him, resting your hands on his hips as you lean your forehead against his shoulder blade. “. . . Thank you.” And there’s so much to be thankful for.

He tilts his head back, knocking it against your own. “Any time.”


	22. And in the end, we are happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7 months later

The sky is dark and grey, and you watch the snow fall from the window. Large, white, fluffy flakes descending from the heavy clouds above onto the thick blankets of snow covering the ground and trees. Your smile is soft as you watch; the blues and blacks a stark contrast to the cozy glow of the fireplace keeping you warm. Dave is on your right, slouching down against you as he watches movies with the rest of your friends and family. He’s been there long enough, and your side has been substantially warmed by his body heat.

You turn back around, smiling gently at the head of soft, blond hair against your shoulder. He’s fallen asleep, you think; his breathing slow. In the small amount of his shades that you can see, you can make out the lights of the television and Christmas tree. Rose sits with you both on the larger couch, her hand resting on Dave’s shin that he has kicked up over her lap. He’s taken up most of the space on the couch with his long legs.

Dirk is stretched out in the recliner, a can of orange soda in his hand as he texts someone on his phone. You can see multiple lines of green and orange text reflecting in his shades, the messages coming and going quickly. Every once in a while you see him smile at the screen before typing back.

Jade is curled up on the smaller couch, wrapped up in a big quilt Rose had sewn her for her birthday. She’s nibbling on a few cookies she swiped from the kitchen, missing the reprimand for eating them before dinner.

Speaking of dinner, that’s where the parents are. You can smell the seasoned turkey and potatoes from your place on the couch, and your stomach grumbles softly in anticipation. You don’t have to wait much longer, because you see your Dad poke his head out from the kitchen doorway and motion for you. Slowly, you scoot out from Dave’s side, lowering him down to the warm cushions before following your father back into the kitchen.

“Get some plates out, will you, son?” he asks, getting back to grating the parmesan. You nod, reaching up and grabbing the large plates out of the upper cabinet, carrying them out into the dinning room.

It’s not until you’ve finished setting out the glasses that Dave walks into the room, tiredly rubbing at his neck. You smile at him before walking back into the kitchen for the plates of food, and he takes a seat at one of the chairs as you leave.

When you come back, it’s with Roxy and your Dad, and it seems everyone else had wandered in from the living room and have taken their seats. You take the empty one between Dave and Rose, quickly moving for the soda bottle.

Dinner is filled with long conversations, laughter and an aggressive game of footsie with Dave under the table. This leads to elbow shoving and a spilled glass of soda down Dave’s front. It’s by this time that the rest of your friends were clearing out their dishes, and the room is mostly empty. So you take both of your plates while Dave tries to dry himself off.

The past few months have been really great on the both of you. You woke up that next morning sated but nervous. What if it didn’t work out? What if things got awkward? What if you just stopped feeling the way you did because you had only been spurred by curiosity? You would feel terrible. But luckily, nothing like that happened. You were happy, and you were comfortable. The only thing you had needed time with was the new term.

Boyfriend.

Dave at first used it casually; an offhanded thing. However, you tensed, and he stopped immediately. You weren’t upset, it was just. . . new. Dave had tiptoed around the word for a good month before you finally used it yourself. He relaxed after that.

You know Dave is extremely serious about your relationship. You know he’s still a little scared, although he tries not to show it. But you could tell. He’s gotten better as the months progressed, though.

Slowly, you both had gotten more intimate as well. It wasn’t just a friendship with holding hands and occasional kissing. Aside from that first night(which, while you went further than you were expecting to go, you don’t regret at all), you two hadn’t done too much until three months ago where Dave finally let you take off his boxers. Then a month later he let you put your mouth on him.

He’s been really hesitant about the whole “Sex” thing. At first you were grateful, thinking it was for your benefit, but now you think _he’s_ the one with the issue.

But, you’re happy. Happier than you were expecting to be. Not that you were expecting to be _unhappy_ that is. You’re just. . . comfortable. It’s great.

And you love him so much.

You do. Realization hit you one night when he made a dumb comment about your shirt and stole some food from your plate. You both just. . . fit. You fit really, really well.

The thoughts leave you with a dopey smile on your face as you walk back into the dinning room, looking for Dave. However, he’s missing from his seat at the table. “Dirk?” you ask the blond sitting back in the recliner as you walk out from the dinning room. He hums to let you know you have his attention. “Do you know where Dave went?”

“Upstairs, I think,” he replies, eyes not leaving his phone. “Had a big stain on his shirt.”

You nod, although you don’t think he sees it before you’re heading up the stairs. You both shared the same room as last year, just now when you kissed him under the mistletoe, it didn’t make things awkward and confusing.

You open the door without knocking, and you’re greeted by Dave’s scarred, bare back being illuminated by the small lamp in the corner. You smile as you walk over, slowly wrapping your arms around his waist once you come up behind him. You sigh, nuzzling at his neck and you feel his laugh vibrate against his vocal cords. He turns to you though, as you move to his jaw, then kiss at his lips once he’s turned far enough for you to reach.

“What’s up?” he smiles as you pull back, that dumb, fake smirk on his face.

“What? A guy can’t kiss his boyfriend?”

He turns around in your loose hold, his arms moving to drape over your shoulders. “Well, with you, there always seems to be an ulterior motive,” he smiles, his face mere inches away. Instead of giving him an answer, you steal a kiss from him again. Easier now with him facing you head on. He laughs against your lips but pulls back once your hands fall to his hips. “So there _is_ and ulterior motive?”

This time it’s you who laughs, and it’s airy as you move back in against him. He doesn’t protest as you kiss him chastely; you can feel him smiling against you and you revel in it. It’s not long though, before you’re nipping at Dave’s bottom lip and his hand is in your hair and you’re both stumbling back onto one of the beds.

Dave’s arms are tight around your shoulders as he holds you over him and you’re resting on your elbows which are on either side of his head. He licks at your upper lip and you smile teasingly before nuzzling your way down to the crook of his shoulder, nipping there instead. You hear Dave sigh above you, a sound that quickly grew on you and you suck on the spot instead, hoping to elicit as much sound as you can.

Dave’s too damn quiet for his own good.

You pull away long enough to tug your shirt off over your head and toss it to the floor before you’re back over him. He pulls you in and kisses you roughly, and this time you open up for him. His moan is soft as you graze your teeth over his tongue, and then he’s pushing his hips up against yours. You can’t help but laugh at the already hardening protrusion in his jeans. _“Shut up,”_ he bites, rubbing up against you, “it’s been like, almost two weeks.”

“And whose fault is that?” you quip, teasingly grazing your teeth over the sensitive place on his neck. He goes to retort but no, Dave, only make outs now. So you use your own hips to push him down into the mattress, and his sentence becomes nothing more than a garble of sounds.

Dave doesn’t protest when you move your hands to unbuckle his belt, and his grip tightens around your hair when you attempt to push them off without breaking the kiss. You can only get them barely midway down his thigh in your current position. “Hang on,” you tell him, your lips brushing against his when you speak. He lets go of your hair and instead moves his hands to rest on your hips. His jeans are the first to go, then you shimmy out of your own and toss them both over the side of the bed.

You relax for a moment, resting back against Dave’s thighs and just look him over. Hair fanned out over the pillow, white lines of scars across his lean chest, and his fucking pink briefs. You smile down at him as he rubs circles into your hips with his thumbs. Then you lean back over him and easily push his shades up and off his face. He doesn’t protest, and instead squints his red eyes up at you until they adjust. You take off your own glasses as well and set them both on the side table.

“Hey,” you sigh, bumping your nose against his before resting your foreheads together.

“Hey, yourself,” he says, hands tightening on your hips and leaning up to try and kiss you again. You hum and give in easily, now just lazily kissing him back. Once he teases your mouth open, things are back to being heated. His hands are kneading at your ass through your boxers and you’ve built up a steady rhythm of grinding down against him. You revel in his sighs, and can’t help but make some back.

Something is eating at your brain though, and Dave can tell. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asks, his voice breathy.

“No, just, um. . .” You bite at your lip. “Never mind, just-“ and you try to kiss him again but he moves out of the way.

His eyebrows are knit now, and you see hesitance in his features and the way his body tenses. “No. What is it.”

You bite nervously at your abused bottom lip again and look away. Such a simple question but you’re making things difficult. “Just forget it, you- you probably won’t be up for it. Just- sh,” and you kiss at his neck. A place he can’t move away from.

He’s determined now, and he sits up a little, resting back against his forearms and gives you one of his looks. You sigh, dropping your face into your hands. You would’ve been fine with heavy petting.

Dave makes a “Tsk,” and pulls your hands away, rubbing at your palms. “What?”

You hesitate. “Would- would you. . . maybe. . .” This is embarrassing you are embarrassed. But Dave waits patiently for you to speak your mind. “Would you. . . have sex with me?”

Dave’s expression is one of confusion, and the rubbing on your palms stop. “Like?”

“Yeah- like, the full-. . . is that okay? Would you be alright with that? Ugh, I’m sorry this is stupid I shouldn’t have said any-“

He laughs a little, and it interrupts your sentence. “You sure can ruin the mood, can’t you?”

“. . . Is that a no?”

He laughs again. “ _No_ , but my dick isn’t sure whether it should be aroused or not.”

“So. . . you want to? We don’t- I mean- I can just-“

“Shut up, John” he laughs, kissing you quiet. He falls back against the pillow again, pulling you with him, and you’re so glad he stopped you from saying anything else. You kiss him back feverishly, sighing and melting into his hold.

His hands slip down your boxers and push down the fabric with his movements. You sigh into his mouth, arching into his touch. “So,” he whispers. “How are we doing this?”

“Can I, um. Top? I guess?” His answer is a silent, hesitant nod, and so you slide down, kissing him as you trail your lips to his naval. He’s a little tense, but you try to make him relax by massaging your thumb on his thigh. He sighs, and you feel his hand come up and tangle in your hair. You love when he does that.

You sigh, and begin to trail your lips farther down until you’ve reached the protrusion at his hip. You do nothing more than tease him; a ghost of a breath and nothing else. When your eyes meet his, it’s a silent question to remove his briefs and he nods to you. So you do just that, and pull your own off as well. And, yep. You’re really going to do this.

You take a deep breath before slowly climbing back over him, but this time you maneuver his legs to rest over your thighs before kissing him again. Its long and fervent and you stay like that for a moment before reaching blindly over to the drawer of the side table. When your hand comes back, it’s with a small bottle and a square package.

“Did you plan this?” he asks, amused smile on his lips.

“I just wanted to be prepared. . . just in case. . .” You kiss him deeply again, tongue teasing at his own to try and distract him from what you’re about to be doing with your hands. His arms wrap back around your shoulders and hold you close to him, and you feel them tighten when you take a breath.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “About. . . this.”

“Dave, I’ve been sure for a few weeks. You’re the one who keeps stopping us. . .”

“I know I know, shit, I’m sorry. I just. . . I don’t want to push you into anything. . .”

Your gaze is soft as you look down at him, and you kiss him a few times before speaking. “Dave, you’ve never pushed me. What we did that night. . . I made my choice. I never felt pressured.” You know he’s been hung up about that. How far you two had gone that first night; but you kiss him again and speak softly. “Just relax, okay? We can stop if we need to.”

He sighs, but relaxes, and you kiss him deeply. You try not to break the kiss as you start to move your slick fingers down between his legs, but you feel him tense when you attempt to press a single digit inside.  You shush him, and continue to kiss where you can until he’s relaxed enough for you to move. He’s warm and tight and you try to move as slowly as you can, in and out of him.

When you think he’s ready, you attempt to slide in a second, and his heavy breathing turns into soft gasps. He’s more relaxed now, and his legs slump a little over your own as you push into him. “Haa, _John,”_ he moans when you barely brush over his prostate.

“Mmm,” you hum, nuzzling at his neck and stretching your fingers inside him. His arms tense around your shoulders and his hands tangle in your hair.

You get one more finger inside him before he’s stopping you. “Hnn, c’mon John. Just do it.”

He moans at the loss of your fingers when you pull out, and you quickly rip at the wrapper of the condom. Dave’s breathing is heavy as he watches your movements, and your rate isn’t quite too calm either. But, the condom is on now. You’re about to do this. You’re about to have the full sex with Dave Strider. Dave Strider who is also your boyfriend.

“Lift up for a second,” you tell him, and reach over to grab one of the pillows as he obeys. You situate it below his hips, and he rests down against it as you place your hands on his upper thighs.

You both stare at each other for a moment, chests heaving. Dave’s hands are wrapped up tightly in the sheets by his head. His beautiful eyes are half lidded as he looks at you, and he moves his lips to say something, but instead remains quiet. When he moves his hands out for you, you lean down and kiss him. “Ready?” you whisper.

He nods, “Yeah. Yeah I’m ready.”

So you maneuver yourself, lining up to him and you feel his arms tighten around you as you press against his entrance. You breathe deeply, and he sighs as you start to move into him slowly. Then his own breath is hitching in his throat and you kiss down his neck to his shoulder, trying to soothe him.

Once you’re fully seated inside him, you both relax. “You okay?” you whisper and you feel him nod above you.

“Yeah. No, it’s cool, I’m totally fine right now. It feels fuckin’ great just-. . . give me a sec.” He shifts under you, trying to get comfortable and you wait as patiently as one can with their dick up someone’s ass.

“Alright. Okay, move.”

“Move?”

He pushes down against you and you moan at the sensation. _“Yes,_ John. Fucking _move,”_ and he gasps as you push up into his next grind.

You’re doing it you’re doing it oh God you’re doing it. He feels so great. So warm and tight around you and you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into your next thrust and he gasps. “Oh _fuck, John.”_

You bite down on his shoulder, trying to muffle your own(louder) cries, and you feel Dave twitch against you.

“I- _oh,_ John I-” You move up to kiss him roughly and snap your hips forward. He sighs into your mouth and presses up against you, trying to find some friction for his neglected dick. You press back and his sigh catches in his throat.

“Dave- Oh my god, you feel so great.” You move your hands up his back and clutch at his shoulders and hair before kissing him again. This is so much better than you were expecting it to be. It’s so much better than your own hand.

But this could be better for Dave. So you start to change angles, hoping to find that _one spot._ “John-, _John_ ,” he chants, and it only makes you try harder. When you find it again, it leaves Dave’s heavy panting nothing more than incoherent stutters. You feel his legs tense up, and they move to lock around your hips and hold you close.

“Y-you okay?” you attempt to ask past your heavy breathing.

“Pe-peachy. _Fuck, John._ ”

Your hips start to snap forward at a faster and faster pace as you near your edge, and you try to kiss at Dave’s lips but you’re both finding it hard to focus on that. Instead they just sort of brush against each other as you pant and sigh and thrust.

 _“John, please, t-“_ and you move your hands. One to hold him and one to snake its way down his front. He gasps when your fingers tighten around his member, and moans as you start to match the pace of your hands to your thrusts. “I-, I-“ he stutters, but silences himself as he tilts his head up to kiss you. You kiss him back roughly, moaning against him as both of your thrusts start to become erratic.

He breaks away from the kiss as his head lolls back, a silent cry leaving his mouth open as he arches against your touch. You watch this with half lidded eyes; the way his hair falls back, the way his throat stretches and the skin pulls taught. He holds you close, his arms and legs locking around you as he stills against your movements. You don’t stop however, and keep thrusting into him through his orgasm. You feel him twitch against you as he sighs, and you bite down onto his shoulder when you come, stifling a cry of your own.

You’re both panting heavily as you slowly come down from your highs. Dave kisses at you lazily and you sigh into his touch as you both relax into each other. After a moment, he starts to squirm uncomfortably beneath you, so slowly you slide out of him, and he makes a noise when you throw out the condom.

You use the tissues on the side table to clean the both of you off, all the while Dave kissing at you wherever he can reach. When you’ve cleaned him off as well as one can with a few tissues, you lie down, situating yourself on his side and holding him close to you. You share lazy kisses, some longer than others as you begin to get tired. He sighs, burying his face into your chest and you wrap your arms around his back.

You kiss at the top of his head, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. You feel Dave sigh as well, and his arms come up underneath your own to wrap around your waist. Right when you think he’s finally asleep, you can’t help but whisper:

“I love you.”

The body against you becomes rigid in a heartbeat and you freeze in turn. After a few long seconds, he pulls back enough to look at you. You can’t place the emotions flashing across his face. Hesitance? Nervousness? They don’t look positive.

“. . . What?” he whispers, and his eyes are open and wide as he stares up at you.

“I-,” you pause. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. It’s only been about 8 months since you two started dating. And you’re only 19. Should you really being using that phrase yet?

But.

Yes. Yes, you think you should. You do love Dave. You love him as your best friend. You love him as your boyfriend. You love who he is as a person. You love being with him. You just. . . you love him.

He’s still staring at you, body stiff as he waits for you to say something. “I love you.”

At those three words, you feel more than hear his breath hitch in his throat, and his gaze softens. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the muscle flex as he leans into you, kissing you passionately and he melts against you. You hold him close, kissing him back and sighing when he pulls away far enough to say:

 _“Fuck,_ I love you too,” he kisses you, “John, I-“ and his breath hitches before he kisses you again, his eyes shut tightly. One of his hands comes up to your cheek and holds you to him, and you push him back into the pillow without breaking the kiss.

“Dave?”

“No, I’m cool. I’m fine,” he says, voice a little shaky and you smile, pecking his lips a few times. “Ah, fuck. I’m a mess.”

You laugh softly at him, staring down at him with a warm smile on your face. He relaxes again and smiles back up at you. After once last kiss, you fall back to his side, spooning him as you both face the window. It’s still snowing out, and you can see the large flakes fall through the light of the back porch. You’re still smiling, and you tighten your hold around Dave, nuzzling into his neck.

You are in love, and you are happy with Dave Strider. And you don’t think you could want anything else as badly as you want to keep him like this. Just you, and him.

Happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god!! this is over i cant believe it!! :''''''''0
> 
> i want to thank all of you guys for sticking with me for so long! all of the nice comments have been wonderful and half the time have made me cry. im so sad that this is over. i just. . . cant believe it!! oh man!
> 
> the feedback on this fic has just been so amazing. i never expected my FIRST JOHNDAVE FIC to get such recognition :'''') honestly i was expecting it to suck but i think i did better than i give myself credit for
> 
> you can follow me at my tumblr [(thesunmaid)](http://thesunmaid.tumblr.com/) for more of,, , me
> 
> ALSO i know my followers know quite well about this but now that this fic has ended im finally going to be able to OFFICIALLY START MY NEXT FIC. its the campskaia one and dont worry its still johndave aha (with a little bit of dirkjake thrown in)
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed yourself with this fic! and i hope that i'll get some of you reading my campskaia one as well :''')
> 
> lexi out


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